Day Seventy-eight

A walk in the country

I am a fantasist - no doubt. Aren't all writers? And I love to pretend to be other people when I'm walking, or driving, or well, anything really. Today I pretended I was a Jane Austen heroine - nothing unusual in that is there? ;-)


Three miles to Netherfield

I was Elizabeth Bennet today except
I crouched to pee in a bush - and
I'm pretty sure she
never did that. And I
had a short skirt on and
my new pair of jeans and my hair hadn't
been coiffured by a maid.

Or maybe Lizzy did and dear Jane
omitted to say how she
unbuttoned her
bloomers and squatted in an
unladylike sprawl. It was after all
three miles at least to
Netherfield Hall.

But I was still her as I traipsed
ancient paths and
jumped age-old streams.
Sun flickering
across fields half smothered by
cloud. And the pheasants
were making a hell of a row.