Scrooge is my middle name and I’m more likely to cry Humbug! rather than Merry Christmas!, but here you go, a Christmas bush I met in the street.
This morning I looked out of the window again – and lo, the view is still the same.
This commuting will bore me to my untimely demise.
Ready to jump at a suspected mouse.
This tree would make a great tree house for some small creature.
What does the strawberry bush think it’s doing out here in this season?
What is this talk about streets paved with gold? Where? We’re happy here to have the street even paved.
Human life is everywhere a state in which much is to be endured and little to be enjoyed.
Is this fungus or mushrooms? And does the tree mind?