The sun rose over the little market town of Glandhill. It was a beautiful autumn morning sunrise, about 6:30 with no one yet in the centre of town. Only the farm workers in the distance were up, herding the cows in from the fields for the first of their two milking sessions that day. Within the town centre street lights were still on and the roads were clear. Birds began to sing to announce the new morning, first one or two but then more. The sky was the colour of powder blue - no clouds had yet arrived and the only white wisps in the sky were those of the passenger aircraft so high above the little town. The townsfolk slept on, still dreaming of their greatest adventures. …
