Trees bend their heads in greeting as I enjoy the shade. Miles Davis plugged into my ears I concentrate on walking, colours, the joys of summer. Soon I will find a meadow for my rest. There's nothing like a summer Sunday, children laugh as they play and the dogs flirt or catch the stick thrown by the hand that pads their heads as they return triumphant knowing they've earned a biscuit. Now it is time for other games.
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