Willows at the lake side are all withered and grass burnt white against a copper sky. Crows, still, silent shadows waiting for the dark. Drenched in sunlight the lake glitters and spits like metal in a mould. Below the surface lie carp and bream and pike waiting in the cool dark.
A Terrible Fear of Cheese 
a vivid vignette esp the second stanza; and those sinister, silent, sentinels, the crows —
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Thank you ! Thank you ! You get the idea straight away. I’ve not written anything for ages -just sat at the desk and looked at the street- but I have tried Flowstate – you set a time – then start writing. But you have to keep on going. If you paue, then what you have written fades away..
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