Ponies’ Noses

 

Mrs Trellis’ bobble hat Seems to be a fashion icon

My last day of isolation and I’ve no internet! 

I’m typing this on my phone with fat fingers

It’s still raining and

I’m stood under the Churchyard Elm which offers a little production.

I am refreshingly wet.

I’ve just visited the ponies in the field and stood for an age breathing in their breath and letting them do the same.

There is something magical in this sort of connection. 

Something peaceful.

I came out to check if my field hedges have been cut and shaped and indeed they have been. This time of year, tractors pulling great arms of cutters fill the lanes and roads and overgrown hawthorn hedges Suddenly become neat, and square and impressive.

The countryside remains a dirty, muddy brown green and

I haven’t seen anyone human today

With the only exception of Mrs Trellis’ bobble hat which bounced past the field borders up the lane at a jaunty angle.