Fairy tales live in me,
fables coming from my memory

There’s water coming out the corner…

One cannot help but feel a resentful longing for the summer days and cold winter mornings by the Deal seaside, masts swaying in the wind, pebbles washing up on shore, taken back out into the sea.
But how far do they go if France is just twenty-five miles away?

…trickles down the hall…

On the opposite end of the country, a Herefordshire wind blows with the typical assertiveness of an inland force, just doesn’t know that its East West direction is all but guaranteed.
Frozen cores of fruit and tiny yellow flowers burst into stiffness.

…out into the street

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