Monday's child fair of face
Tuesday's child is full of grace
Wednesday's child is full of woe
Thursday's child has far to go
Friday's child works hard for their living
Saturday's child is loving and giving
But the child that's born on the Sabbath day is bonnie and blithe and good and gay.
The world stands still in the aftermath of the dawn. The woman lying in the heather, knowing better, nevertheless chooses to accept this as a gesture of appreciation for her artwork. She lies flat on her stomach with her chin resting on the bare skin of her forearms and stares out between the limbs of her tripod at the changing textures of the landscape she has just attempted to fix on film. It is good. As a culmination of three months’ worth of early mornings, a frighteningly large proportion of her savings blown on a lens and an amateur’s stab at astronomy, it is very good indeed. If it comes out. If the view on the film is anything at all like the reality and if she can do in the darkroom the things that she needs to do then it might, indeed, have been worth the time and the effort. And if not, then it is good to have had something to get up for in the mornings.
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