A neon-green cricket, packet-fresh, arrows in on an easterly buffet, coming to land on the sheer cliff-face of the alley’s wall to take stock of its surroundings. Sprightly copper-tinted eyes, a certain self-assurance in its posture. Young ferns’ tongues unfurl from nooks between bricks where mortar’s conceded to climate, & between the cobbles, clover’s abundant, minute rivers of it gushing underfoot, the runnels conjoining & gathering momentum before meeting the brickwork in a wash of voluble emerald.
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