The idiocy of rural life.

Went for a walk at lunchtime, glorious day and a stretch of the local river Mole that was delightful in the summer sunshine. Little folly bridges inlaid with sea shell motifs, dappled chestnut horses, and ripe red berries on the towpath shrubs. Found this little weir with reeds rippling just below the surface like something out of a pre-Raphaelite painting.

Can't think of anything else to say. Overwhelmed by my own bucolic prose. Still think Engels was right though and I am a townie at heart...