A writing exercise to staty mentally sharp, this is! I'm sat here, writing e-mails, thinking about my screenplay, and looking for career inspiration and life improving things while thinking of the tea and cake I shall have later, once I have trecked the lightly frosted pavements looking for DVDs.
Twenty feet to my right is a the one set of windows I can see that aren't blocked by bookshelves. The slanting uppers are streaked with dirt, tree sap and the like probably infused with a heedy brew of pigeon droppings. The main tree outside is a silver birch just outside is a Silver Birch, many of its leaves still green, it's boughs looking a little damp and shivery. At its base are a couple of shrubs, probably well watered by the street drinkers that use the civial war sculpture I can't see as a meeting place. A female blackbird roots around in the leaf litter with frenetic tosses of its feathered head.
Beyond is a tree I can't identify, again hanging on to its leaves but these are the colour of polished brass - how instense the colours are this autumn, exacerbated by today's harsh light issuing out of a slightly washed out looking blue sky. This tree obscures most of the millenium arch, one metallic column stands in modern contrast to the original Beaumond Cross whch stands behind it, curiously off the vertical.
In the furthest part of the view, tall trees stand around a large house, multiple chimney stacks signalling old money.
There are a thousand greens outside, all beautiful.
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