Blue, blue, blue. The roses, pink and bumblebee, fill the air with sweet. Brightly coloured children scream and laugh through the sprinklers. I jump through to wet my bare legs and remember. A little breeze ruffles things, like single blades of grass, and carries the scent of the roses. My favourite crabapple three is thick with bulbous young apples. Horse feather clouds paint one piece of blue, wispy tendrils curled.
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