It all began when I read Hardy's The Darkling Thrush. I returned again, and again to the thrush in blast-beruffled plume, and that blessed hope whereof he knew. When I was thinking up titles, however, a small voice in the back of my mind rejected the ecstatic thrush. No, the coppice gate -the plain, unassuming, unadorned coppice gate- was more appropriate, more... me.
And so my journey begins.
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