Dreaming of making hay

As the sun rose this morning

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lighting up the northern hills

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and as the ducks started their normal round of activity

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and the woodpecker tried to eat a whole fatball

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the postman brought a strange parcel

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which we carefully unpacked

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and examined

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Last year we failed to get anyone to mow the meadow.  This year we won’t need anyone else (although, as you will have just seen, ours is obviously not a single grip snath):

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