Brumous

I know I’ve truly learned a new word when my brain chants the syllables over and over in a gleeful hymn of recognition the first time I spot a chance to use it in the wild.

A photograph of a swing set at dusk. There's heavy mist in the air. Yellow street lights cut through the fog. There's a play structure barely visible in the distance. The photo looks wintry and chilly.

Brumous, brumous, brumous, brumous, brumous, brumous, brumous…

Published by Lucy Bellwood

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