Last night I spotted shaggy inkcaps, aka lawyer's wig and shaggy mane: white fleecy fingers rise in rings around trees on a lawn at the edge of a housing estate. The estate is quiet, except for the sound of leaves crunching under foot and paw. The vespertine hour: an hour when chimneys begin to smoke, and tellies glow, and this mind starts to relax and clear on a shadowy walk, readying itself for stories and dreams.

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