Through the rectangular window

It’s snowing. I hurriedly pack, feed chickens, collect post. And then it’s back to Dolphinton and the bus into town. Where there is no snow.

The train journey is relaxing. On time, uncrowded, comfortable. I read, listen, and doze.

It’s pouring at Kings Cross, so I take the tube to Great Portland Street. The short walk to the flat is enough to soak me. I dry out watching the third Hobbit film on the telly, eating toast and snacks.