Old cobbles, irregular moss between.
Some lifted as natures reclamation puts it's mark beneath them.
Roots splitting their pretty pattern.
Trees being trees.
The tram lines polished tops dazzle me as an early spring sun tries to make an appearance.
Enhanced by the light glistening on the droplets of water on my glasses.
I didn't notice that yesterday.
Cold east wind bites as the ferryboat blows it's horn.
Each captain different in tone remimding me I'm home.
The dark grey sea churning as the ferry fights its way to Liverpool.
Each day the same just different in small detail.
How was your lunch?