George sighed and stopped. He raised one eyebrow and said, 'Seriously? Do you really think anyone will be looking at your posterior ... when they could be looking at me?'
'Good point, George. I'll remember that and feel free to shake my booty in future.'
There was little evidence on our walk of the ferocious winds that had been forecast for last night. Apart from a few branches down there was only this blocked path to show for it.
The wind was still blowing though, albeit gently, and a number of trees were creaking noisily. I find that reassuring as I always remember someone, a teacher I think, saying it wasn't the trees that creaked that you had to worry about. The very fact that they were creaking showed they were bending in the wind. And that is better than breaking in it. I hope she was right. I fear, if a tree began to fall, I would panic, run the wrong direction and be squashed flatter than a flat iron.
I can understand the attraction that wild roses have for bees: they smell good enough to eat.