Brushed
Monday morning 6am rise to the clanging alarm bleary eyed down the stairs kettle on, first cuppa gazing down the garden birds searching for breakfast she wonders what to get for supper. Pulls dressing-gown tighter rubs sleepy eyes runs fingers through knotty hair birds hopping across the branches I really must, as trying to untangle, get this bird’s nest brushed. Continue reading Brushed
