A Wet Cold Week
Another chilled morning of early summer rides the fen winds on this day of May, yet more rain falls over our rich soil and the hopes of a warm bright bank holiday sadly sink in our hearts. These wide open skies once more cast grey cloud above our special world of dyke and drove where bird does sit on fresh new nest now damp and cold, where picturesque lilac blooms see their cent washed away by the drizzle and old cast iron gutters play those winter tunes once more.
The bright new green world now drips with rain and rivers feed the dry banks, cow parsley stands higher each day and the reed beads clean the marshes like armies of washer women dressed in green, no forest of oak stands in this world, no hill path to follow or rock to climb, here the world of water and fen do face the winds and rain.
A week to forget for this bead maker it has been, a week of worry and sleepless nights he spent, his kiln did die and no beads were made while joints are slow and stiff once more, how nice the warm days would be now to return the smiles he hides, it will pass as new days arrive and once more his flame will play the magical tricks he loves so much, no more tears will he have to fight, now he can carry on those lanes of learning that snake through his life of fire and glass. Again he will watch the dancing rain on ponds as molten glass will set and hear the finches chatter while feeding high above the water and these days will be forgotten as those of the past are today.
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