The photograph https://www.instagram.com/p/DNHC-ZXM9sB/?igsh=MTE4OTlzOWk3NHVrNw==
And text When you see the green and gold of it, and you shadow-walked it in mazes the sheep fold, the tussocks blowing, the wind rock edge, the tarmac edge to the turf and beyond, the well covered with the plywood, the headland drop to the Loch and the waves thereon and green straight across to the far shore, the small island then up to the white farm and then above the brown and rust hills straight up and beyond the torn grey sky of larks, eagles, hawk and kites in form like sculpted wind and water dazzle, sheen and tastes like brine on the tongue - then you mind no goose on Sunday. Only cabbage and steam pud plus fruit and custard. The goose as fat to rub and cough on Sunday's feet and cars black and visitors unannounced. S x
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