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.
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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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