The old weir gate was stuck, again. The old one, made of hornbeam had been much better, but had fallen to pieces two years ago; this modern thing was awful. It had swollen with the rain, and needed a good kick to make it open; fortunately, I was in the mood for kicking, so I gave it a good boot - and it opened. The trees were stark against the sky, denuded of their leaves, and the late
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