Across the lawn, North of the path I walk on automatic, I heard the bubbling cry of curlew from the boggy bottom I skirted. Water has run so long on this grass this winter that the shallow sheets of runoff are choked with mats of algae. Off the made-up paths, the tracks that ponies make are puddled and muddied. Boot weather.
Squelching and splashing through the gorse stands, clothing grabbed by thorn and prickle, things only get marginally worse when more rain falls. Fortunately it is a day of very short showers. Where this landscape opens to heather heath, with fewer bushes, stonechats flit and chatter; over the marshy lawns skylarks make cryptic love songs.
Taking a dryer, unfamiliar route, I find a spot where I can see the church 6 miles to the North as well as the spine of the Island, 4 miles South. The cranes of the city to the East are hidden by smooth hilltops and wooded enclosures. Thrushes and goldfinches fly and call between the trees dotted here.
Almost without exception, those I meet are exercising dogs. I'm passed by a couple of runners, half a dozen cycles. I see two picnics; it is lunchtime after all, albeit damp and only just in double figures Centigrade.
Sunday 15 March 2020
Sunday 1 March 2020
UI woes
The DeWalt flashes while charging and indicates fully charged by a steady LED. The Oral B does the opposite.
When the toothbrush caught my eye in the bathroom this morning, I wondered how it had received an email.
When the toothbrush caught my eye in the bathroom this morning, I wondered how it had received an email.
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