Saturday, 16 July 2011

That's why you must walk up the hills, so you can ride down.

Cycling in soft, delicate cotton shaded beneath a straw hat, sunlight leaking through freakling my face.
Sitting beneath an old oak tree lost in the world and visions of Faulkner and Steinbeck.
A woven basket cradling rustic breads, cheeses and succulent fruit ready to be devoured, washed down with fresh lemonade.
Mother Nature appears to be preoccupied, she has no understanding of supply and demand.

Screen shot 2011-07-05 at 12.00.35


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