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Dust Lifts ~~~

Airbourne offspring of dry dirt cultivated for fresh spring crops. The stiff northerly wind cut through all my layers. Distant, under observation, it lifts & tangles the dust into swirling eddies as a Brittany mimic of Saharan sandstorm. Ochre stains southward in sheets, boiling drifts, swirling opaque in sepia tones to screen the stretching monochromatic of green pastureland ever beyond the Braunton Burrows that back the sands of Saunton.

That damn north wind drains through me as if I were a sieve. The relentless gusting beyond into the ocean, impressionistic in drifts of scuffed steel and stiff snowy merangue peaks that seems stationary from this distance, is ebbing low in miniature.

Perched on soft earth a panoramic snapshot stretches sunlit, wind-whipped away south. Footsteps that eddy and twist with indecision and piqued intrigue cross fields, cut hedges and navigate the back country lanes trailing labrynthine miles from Braunton to Georgeham.

The hedges are alive breathing, swaying with herbs, weeds and wildflowers which pass no mind to all but the coming spring to which they burst their buds with brash splashes of vivid hues in homage. In and out of the holes and hedges teleporting rabbits, as if on borrowed sparrows wings, fidget and flit about before disappearing again. Once I caught a glimpse of a stalking cat come creeping, as if in timelapse, with intent through the foliage only to be detected and exposed with a firm footed percussion from an ever alert Brighteyes. Her stomping little paw resonated across the little field to where upon the wobbly fence I was perched.

Nature, red in tooth and claw - a fine little drama indeed...

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