I wake in a room bathed in light. A steady, early sun streams through the window, glinting off the white wooden shutters. The morning skyline, risen and diffuse, is a canopy that plumes and punctures strands of cumulus cloud. The highline, the freight line, the flight line, the beeline.

The outside is a pale shade of green. I go out barefoot and stand in our back garden. This garden is a narrow patch of cultivated topsoil over roadstone and shale, a quarry path over fossil trees and carboniferous time. The hardened ground is a humus first formed from ancient accumulations of quillworts and ...


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