Morning

I was inspired to do this by an article in a newspaper about a poet who writes a daily tweet (140 characters) about his morning stroll through his Yorkshire village. I've decided I'm going to try to do the same but based on my paper-round and I'll be posting it here as I don't have twitter.
It will probably just be silly little observations and metaphors and probably not worth reading but I thought it would be a nice challenge for the year ahead.

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262. 14th January - 20th January

14th January.

Morning. Patchy snow struggles on against the thaw – thin as worn socks but frozen hard between the grass shoots and cracked paving slabs.

15th January.

 Morning. Slimy with moisture like the flesh of a snail, the day is as drab as it is cold and it fails to shine much brighter than the night.

16th January.

 Morning. The warbled war-cry of some exotic bird resounds like a voice in a tunnel – projected by the woolly greyness of the impending day.

17th January.

 Morning. Serene, silver, silent. A gilded ceiling tops the day in a reflection of the grass – stooping beneath the sheen of platinum dew.

18th January.

 Morning. A parade of flower-pots lie over-turned and empty. Cavernous as the winter months that surround them, awaiting the breath of spring.

19th January.

 Morning. Sky is a hive of activity despite its serene pallidity – a vast stage over which birds boast their circus acts like trapeze artists.

20th January.

 Morning. Dawn is frost-mantled once again; air seems to have been thickened by a purplish mist that lurks behind the jaws of its frozen bite.

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