open window

A perfect minute.

It actually felt like the first flush of summer for a perfect minute this morning. Dry-skinned and clammy-palmed from efficient all-night heating, I guiltily opened my window. Breezeless, the unseasonably mild air flooded over me. The countryside said “good morning” with lazily cooing pigeons and idly tittering blue tits, with the soft scent of lush green grass and the slow whisper of distant cars.

Then the chill crept over the windowsill and it was winter again.

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