I kid you not. Even if the Queen of England were due for a visit in five minutes, I would still sit down to cool off after coming up from the barn. I would apologize, but Her Royal Highness would just have to wait. The one or two degree drop in temperature yesterday didn't make much difference.
Capo, the tree squirrel, made another early morning raid along the rail. He made me think of the band of grey, furry bully boys in South Land Park years ago. I was taking night classes at city college and had to cross the park at dusk. The squirrels would come in numbers, so bold as to stand on my foot, demanding a toll to cross their turf. I ended up carrying graham crackers in my pockets so I could get to class.
Why is it, I wonder, that the one sure way to find where the cat sicked up a fur ball is with bare feet in a dark hall?
Poppy seems to be over her spell of giddiness and has stopped singing. I'm glad to see she spends most of the day in the shade, as I'd hate to see a sheep with a sunburn.
Bessie Anne has the pool routine down pat. She went so far as to put all four feet in yesterday. That's a good thing, as I've splashed so much over her that the pool has lost half of its water.
There sometimes comes a moment toward sundown when the mountain goes completely quiet. It's awesome. No bird calls, no engine rumbles, no dog barks, no leaf rustles. It's as if someone hit the pause button and the world went still. Then the moment is over and life goes on as usual.
It could be my imagination, or perhaps wishful thinking, but it feels a little cooler this morning. One can hope.