Have you ever noticed that time passes faster when we aren’t aware of it? I sneak a look at the antique clock on the wall, vaguely aware of the loud kids and their poor parents as they hurriedly move past or rather are dragged away by their children. 2:45. Just fifteen more minutes.
The rolling hills in northwest Briton were moist and mossy in the small hours of the morning. A thin fog pervasive in the area competed with a low-hanging steamy cloud covering the ground, the heat from registered from the earth conflicting with the cool spring air.