Sunday 27th April
Rufus is cutting the lawns and that bright green smell of freshly cut grass is everywhere. A cool breeze is ruffling the leaves on the trees and tempering the heat of the sun that’s beating down on my back. I’m kneeling on the gîte terrace, weeding the gravel, my trowel slicing under the stones to lift the roots of errant forget-me-nots…
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