Yesterday on my walk with Dad I saw a topless windmill across the fields. Today I went to have a look at it. The Nene looked very atmospheric in the morning mist. I have a healthy respect for Rivers; each day they tell a different story. Today with the morning mist the River told a ghost story. I was pleased to be walking along the bank as it’s tale hauntingly wound around and disappeared into the distance.
The windmill sits close to a water mill.
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