Grass

As I got out of my car at work the smell of fresh cut grass assaulted me.  I turned quickly, my gaze directed across the last of the golden leaves the hedge, settling in for winter, was yet to abandon.

A worker was driving back and forwards on a motorised cutter whilst another cut back branches close by.  I briefly wished that the output of my own efforts for the day would be so visible and might evoke the same response in someone that the grass had for me.

As is often the case on a Monday, there was only one other person in the office.  The day passed quickly and I made some small progress on an ever growing list.

I briefly chatted with my Co Worker about 'festive' menus on offer in the High Street, checking at Spoons during my lunch break that theirs was up and running, even though it was not on my menu with it being my first fasting day of two planned this week.

My throat was sore all day and it hurt quite a bit by the end of the day.