The Gawler Creeper Strikes Again
Picture this... The morning is cold and frost lies thick on the ground. A skulking figure moves furtively through the brush and past the creaking gate. The light is dim as the sun promises but has yet to reach between the trees. The figure looks around to ensure it's solitude will remain undisturbed, then quickly darts across the road to the nearby houses. Here it casts about, seeming to search the ground for something. It stoops and pulls a metal device from within the folds of clothing wrapped about itself. It stabs the dull bladed instrument at the ground again and again, gathering its harvest into a small container clutched in stiff fingers. Chortling to itself it then swoops away, returning from whence it came, its ill-gotten gains hanging heavily from one arm as it paces through the undergrowth and is hidden from sight within its dank lair.
In other words - laugh at the sight of me as I stumble through my front yard in the early morning to dig up a zip-lock bag full of red clay soil from across the road. Had promised one of the teacher's at work as she's doing a unit on soil, requiring various types of earth and I'd forgotten to do it the previous afternoon.
In other words - laugh at the sight of me as I stumble through my front yard in the early morning to dig up a zip-lock bag full of red clay soil from across the road. Had promised one of the teacher's at work as she's doing a unit on soil, requiring various types of earth and I'd forgotten to do it the previous afternoon.