By Arachne

I dead-headed the roses above the patio. Standing on a ladder looking up is not my favourite thing.

I repaired an old groundsheet. And realised, as I taped over some holes, that I'd put it on the ground over some rose thorns. 

I forced myself to put down the secateurs and the tape, and sit in the sun and read.

Then, somehow, the day was gone.

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