Two steps out the door and I turned around to get a jacket before going out to fill the hummers' feeders and take Bess and the cats on our ritual walkabout on the deck; there was no heat in the early morning sunlight. Down in the barn, I finished the last toe on the girls' pedicures and we're all glad to be done with that for another month or two. By the time the milk had been strained and set to cool, the day was so lovely that I shed the jacket, grabbed up the current book and headed for the bench at the end of the deck, accompanied as always by the house critters. Bessie and the cats seem to enjoy these times as much as I, moving to lie in sun or shade as the mood strikes, looking over their domain through the stiles of the railing. Patrick Taylor is a thoroughly enjoyable writer, much in the style of James Herriot. Taylor can not only write believable dialogue, he writes dialogue so that you hear the lilt of Irish brogue on every page. Reading about the "soft" (drizzling), green days in Northern Ireland, here on Farview the breeze was making the oaks sing their song and sent dry leaves swirling past. Up the road, Dennis fired up his splitter, getting more firewood ready for winter. The murder of crows, close to fifty, lined up on the power line to catch up on the news of the day. Gigged by my conscience, I finally tore myself away and returned to the dreaded housework that had been waiting for me.
In the afternoon, Nature gave a preview of what is to come. The wind, coming out of the north, picked up in earnest, bending the trees and sending whirlwinds of leaves past the windows and jangling the windchimes under the eaves. Craig's work on the barn wall was done just in time. I moved the little tractor back under the protection of the shed in anticipation of the predicted rain. The temperature started dropping and all the critters were happy to get into their houses, but Peggy still needed a last-minute cuddle before that door was shut for the night. Leftover stew (when it's best) for my dinner. Ah, 'twas a grand day.
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(To be read in your best Irish brogue)...Well now, that just made me want to be part of the walkabout crew, and one of the deck-readers, and in the audience to hear the oak singers! Ah, the blog, she was a grand read, indeed!
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