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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260. 1st January - 6th January

1st January.

 Morning. Grey as a soiled sock. Water runs in misty rivulets from the rooftops and sprays up behind car tyres. Roads look glassy with it.

2nd January.

 Morning. White with cold. Merciless. The day is like the skin of a hypothermic victim, pulled in from the arctic, all bitten by the ice. 

3rd January.

 Morning. Heavily iced once again; the sky pale as grey-washed forget-me-nots behind the stencilled trees, the grass like the flesh of a lime.

4th January.

 Morning. Mauve-lit and dreamy, the day has to drag itself to its feet from under a heavy curtain of lacklustre blues. Still. Silent. Sleepy.

5th January.

 Morning.  The distant growling of aeroplanes abrades the tranquillity of the crystals that have grown like tumours around the grass stems.

6th January.

 Morning. Translucent air drifts in eddies over a whitened world. Outlines of trees appear ragged in contrast with the serenity of the dawn.

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