. . Somerset . . .Up
a long steep hill into a wet wind with legs of spaghetti, I'm sopping wet
inside my raingear. Exhausted, I flop under a tree to sleep in the rain,
and begin again, wearing only shorts and tee shirt. I'm wet, but comfy.
Atop the next steep hill, I find a pub with shower, beer, food and a room.
I sketch patrons in trade for beer and food. Here is a watercolor of me
on a hill leading down in the town of Wells.