Season of mists...

My day started with a lesson on how to pump up my bicycle tyres. (Why do I have no useful life skills? Solving crosswords doesn't count, really.) Then a blissful ride through the fields and woods to the fruit farm cafe, where Hannah's wide-eyed beauty and bons mots added sauce to a breakfast well-earned by my poor spinning legs. (I had poached eggs with tomatoes and mushrooms, no toast, since you ask. And if you didn't, what's wrong with you?) I collapsed on the sofa before the third spin class of the week, where my already sore bottom caused eyebrows to rise. Locked out on my return home, I stood in the cool, golden air for an hour and in the endorphin glow that wipes the crap from your brain, it came to me what I'm going to write for Appletree Writers next year. So this is why poets are always running up hills...