It was a wet day. The sun was shining. Birds shook off the rain, and chirped to their heart's delight. One song even included several telephone rings.
Atilla gazed at the scene without joy. It was still too wet to go for a walk to the playground. Mum was insistent on that.
He had on his galoshes and play clothes so he could walk in his wet wet garden. Dad had not cut the grass yet, so it was as tall as his knees.
Walking in it was an adventure. He might find a squelchy grapefruit. Or tangelo. Or loquat. Or cat poo.
Inconvenient Flags: Laurie & Les, Ageing Boomers, Talk Politics.
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*“What we used to call ‘war’ is now called ‘genocide’. By the UN
definition, our fathers and grandfathers were vicious war criminals. The
Allied blockade ...
5 days ago
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