I am sat at this minute, writing in my notebook in the garden (I’ll type it up later). The sunlight shines full on the page and a strong breeze rustles the branches of the tree to my right so that the shadows dance and play across the paper.
Stopped to have lunch by the river in town earlier… to throw crusts to the swans and mallard ducks; watch the moorhens scooting up and down the bank amongst the reeds; the dragonflies dart about above the water; the canadian geese who allow themselves to be carried along slowly by the current; and I became mesmerised by the ripples that webbed feet scatter in all directions.
And then a soporific afternoon in the garden, the heat lulling me into inaction, to bask, and to devour – albeit mindfully – teacups filled with creamy vanilla ice cream. Not just vanilla ice cream, but madagascan vanilla ice cream. Not sure why that makes a difference, but it surely does. I promise I have an excuse for all this lounging about as I am recovering from the flu and the ice cream soothes my throat (oh yes it does… cough, cough, splutter!).