In the cool of an early May morning, a snail is making its slow way across the path. As I step around it, my fingers are tickled by cow parsley.. Crows startle out from amongst cowslips in the long grass. Up here, the sun can touch me, but down in the valley is a thin veil of mist, hazy and soft. The grass is damp with dewdrops and a string of spiderwebs glitter. In the crevices of the hills, dense patches of fog move like smoke.
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