The air feels heavy in this box that is the office. My head feels tense.
I look through the door to a grey blue of cold sky.
Everything looks dark and depressing.
It is not where I want to be.
I want to be lying in a meadow of long grass on a hot spring day, bluebells and buttercups splashing colour.
I want the song of birds, the running water of a stream.
A good book, of poetry to read aloud.

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