The poet Browning, when he was in a particularly good mood one day, wrote that the lark was on the wing, the snail was on the thorn, God was in his heaven and all was right with the world.
I’m feeling inspired in the same way as I work in the storeroom of our charity shop. The tea is in the pot, there’s a box of books to unpack, and Mrs Beasley’s back in charge. I have no information on the local population of larks and snails,
