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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261. 7th January - 13th January

7th January.

 Morning. An orange curtain parts to reveal the day, the streetlamps and houselights project onto the walls and the ceiling with yellow fug.

8th January.

 Morning. The road glitters black with damp beneath a rough-sawn patchwork of clouds and sky. Sad and sullen the dawn never really arrives.

9th January.

 Morning. Nothing to break the monotony of a lilac sky, spanning like a dome overhead. No noise, no interruptions; just bruised grey clouds.

10th January.

 Morning. Shrubby plants protrude from the ground like the ends of enormous, mislaid paintbrushes – green-daubed, bristling and stiffened.

11th January.

 Morning. The faintest of pale pink ribbons strings across the sky like the finishing tape of a marathon, it seems to pulsate between greys.

12th January.

 Morning. Sharp, topaz blue floods the crevices between the trees, occasionally blotted with the dark outlines of birds amid the vibrant sky.

13th January.

 Morning. Whiteness sits upon the ground like froth atop a coffee cup – foamy and swollen. All is silent beneath the snow’s forbidding grip.

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