Went for a run, slow paced, post cough, pre-snowmageddon. Clouds huddled, gave no weather clues. Dog’s fur flared, silky waves over a clippy trot. Snowdrops shook their stooped heads, stems quivering like laughing shoulders do. Two miles, hilly, then home. Mr feels better, he makes fried egg sandwiches and coffee. We are in the office, then, attendant on paperwork.
From the window, cattle are viewed, they stand, seemingly morose, hooves sunk in mud.
One robin hops a branch length on the old ash, plucks out midmorning snacks.
One bullock turns his chunk of head up to the open field. He follows his line of sight, invigorated.
From the window, cattle are viewed, they stand, seemingly morose, hooves sunk in mud.
One robin hops a branch length on the old ash, plucks out midmorning snacks.
One bullock turns his chunk of head up to the open field. He follows his line of sight, invigorated.
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