On Monday,I hear the muntjac deer roaming the deep,damp forest.The deer darts as the noise of children echoes around the forest.

On Tuesday,I see the Weeting football club training in the icy,cold weather.The players kick the ice cube into the back of the net.

On Wednesday,I tasted the takeaway chips which burned my mouth.The steam rose to the air like a bonfire and warmed the room.

On Thursday,I touched the sharp flint which scratched my finger.I feel the smooth face that shines in the bright sun.

On Friday,I run the daily mile.Like a cheater I run six laps around the old school building.

On Saturday,I dream about an albino deer galloping through the misty woods.As white as snow it stands out from the rest.

On Sunday,I found a shiny magpie feather.It was as soft as silk.Lost by the thief of the sky.