Beautiful day, but wind has come on the heels of the front. 1.55 inches of rain. Of course the temporary fence blew over and of course I had happy chickens in the paddock, 8 of them. Not so happy to be rounded up again. They want to go for a walk too.
I will, but I promised myself to vacuum the dead bugs in the cabin and do some writing first. I miss my cabin. No internet access, but it does have electricity and heat.
Frog Out
Afternoon Update
Time slipped away on me (blame the internet). I zipped out with only an hour to spare so I walked 3 miles instead of 4, but I added a new marker, mile 39.5. Birds congregated above. Their chattering was deafening. I clapped my hands to make them take wing. A sudden thrum as they took off at once. White catches my eye in the distance, rows and rows of grave markers in some tidy military cemetary. Trees in a nursery, each trunk protected with white stripping against the enemy, the deer.
My writing cabin has been loved. It has been hugged, kissed, fondled and stroked. I have rid it of all the spider egg sacks, cobwebs and dead husks of insects eaten by same spiders. I have dusted it, poured music into it at loud volume, written pages and pages of journal garbage. My japanese maple has begun to drop its ruby red leaves. The tall ornamental grass has subtly added browns, reds, and yellow to its green. The Nandina berries are bright orange. Such a gorgeous day, rather a festive atmosphere as I went back to my little corner of the property.
Frog Out
I will, but I promised myself to vacuum the dead bugs in the cabin and do some writing first. I miss my cabin. No internet access, but it does have electricity and heat.
Frog Out
Afternoon Update
Time slipped away on me (blame the internet). I zipped out with only an hour to spare so I walked 3 miles instead of 4, but I added a new marker, mile 39.5. Birds congregated above. Their chattering was deafening. I clapped my hands to make them take wing. A sudden thrum as they took off at once. White catches my eye in the distance, rows and rows of grave markers in some tidy military cemetary. Trees in a nursery, each trunk protected with white stripping against the enemy, the deer.
My writing cabin has been loved. It has been hugged, kissed, fondled and stroked. I have rid it of all the spider egg sacks, cobwebs and dead husks of insects eaten by same spiders. I have dusted it, poured music into it at loud volume, written pages and pages of journal garbage. My japanese maple has begun to drop its ruby red leaves. The tall ornamental grass has subtly added browns, reds, and yellow to its green. The Nandina berries are bright orange. Such a gorgeous day, rather a festive atmosphere as I went back to my little corner of the property.
Frog Out
Profile
birdhousefrog- Oz Whiston writing as Oz Drummond
