I call: First New Forest donkey foal, yesterday, just East of Beaulieu.
And a young blackbird in the garden today.
The title is a little disingenuous. Sleep is not a big issue, but I feel the Internet is always pulling me away from sleep, or at least from any kind of mental repose. If the content seems dull or silly or shallow, I blame the lack of sleep.
I call: First New Forest donkey foal, yesterday, just East of Beaulieu.
And a young blackbird in the garden today.
My garden dinghy sits atop its trailer on a wave of deeper grass, where the pigeons don't graze.
Around its prow, the sun brings out ripples of daisies and speedwell, like the sparkling reflections of light on water.
Cradled on a soupy sea; in still motion.
Walking North (first time in a while), the place is overrun with redwings and wrens.
Tens of wrens.
More wrens than round robins.
Not a goldcrest to be seen, but a couple of tree creepers. And nuthatches were heard.
On the way, I saw a crow with white in its wings,
on my return a jackdaw with white highlights along its finger bones, like a flying skeleton bird.
I fell asleep again at five, imagined dialogue fading in my mind, ideas to write.
Awoke nearer nine, strident light of a frosty morn oosing through the weave of my dark curtains, gold and silver; pleats of smoked mackerel skin.
Now I close my eyes for meditation's visions, to find an auditorium of folding chairs in a tornado.
Clatter, clatter.
On Wednesday, I found myself driving out past the custard maple, to find her in full Birds made with full-fat milk glory.
Now the visitors have left, the forest has lit up with autumnal splendour. The beasts have grown new coats. Mud is back in fashion.
With Andras Schiff rattling out Book I in the old Decca recording as a background, I washed a few soapy bowls this morning entirely by touch, my eyes transfixed by a jay raiding for apple scraps in the garden.
I added an extra layer for my walk yesterday, to the scarf that's been back on duty for a month.
I adopted a pet rock from Devon last week. On the window sill, it suddenly looks like a shark.
I have a pet mosquito,
who comes each night to feed.
I'll fetch a rolled up newspaper,
to teach him* how to read.
* yes, I know.