Dew sparkles in the morning light on both the lawn and the spider’s web hung from the drying line. A light fog gives way to the sun. The smell of fresh brewed coffee rises from the cup in my hand.
By contrast, the shop is dark. A troll sits at the end of the table, unmoving. He has been sick a few days and radiates unhappiness with the imperfect world he has to live in.
Carl, Sam and Rob arrive and we swing into action organizing boats and gear.
I cadge a few moments for fishing…the troll has piscine company after a bit.