Well, well she thought. Yesterday she had to squint, but today the sky was the colour of too many squares of colour in a palette, mixing together into a watery grey splurge. It was as if yesterday’s bright blue, yellows and highlighted floral displays were too much somehow, and overnight their colour boundaries were slowly eroded, becoming a shade of indiscriminate colour. It sort of hugged her though. She felt like it was the start of a new phase. Bare legs, short dresses, wrapping cardigans and the light chance of a shower.
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Well of course, fundamentally she loved the man. But she hoped for dancing. And spinning in circles with ecstasy. She would wake up free, everyday she thought, if this happened. Until then, she supposes she will sit in the garden with the trees, and whisper in their rustling embrace. She was always terribly glamorous, and often quieter than a sleeping cat. But inside she loved to move and holler for the pure joy of life.
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They decided that the mountains would be perfect. They rode horses along the dust before they got near to the steam topped peaks. Lying on the blanket, they looked into the eye of the sky, then galloped up a storm; sandwiches in their rucksacks, homemade rose lemonade with a twist of spirit in their flasks. Before the sun set they made an open topped den, and snuggled in layers made of sheep. Closing their eyes after a brisk dance around the fire and naked sprint to the stream, they lay back and saved the day for retirement’s dreams.
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Although I am repressing the latter’s urges (and although they are pretty – I love the flower power – such patterns unfortunately make me think of Kath Kidston now – which is now synonymous with nappy bags.) Presently, as a 26 year-old and as you can see from my column,, I am after something more like this:
Ta DAAA! – Chic.
I still adore the Tatty Devine pieces though.