Wet time

The gods called a halt on planting and cutting. Steady rain from the afternoon.

They say that on the Somerset levels on a still night in May you can hear the withies growing.

But even with the wind howling in the Casentino you’d still hear the new season’s grass a-rustling up. Unstoppable, implacable, un-keep-up-able.

Je suit finis déjà :-)