Wednesday, 17 February 2010
I have always loved fog, the thicker the better. I have vivid memories of walking to school at the age of five, our footsteps muffled, the end of the path mysterious, concealed in mist, the hedges magical and lovely, laced with dew-laden cobwebs. We seem to have such all-enveloping fogs less often now.
Today began unusually foggy, and the brutal outlines of Vale House were barely visible.
Gradually the mists cleared, and there it was again. Pity.
It was a good day for would-be hunters to sit on windowsills and lash their tails, chattering at rooftop birds.
It was a good day to make lunch for an old friend from work.
Fridge soup. Salad to follow - we are both attempting to reduce our middle-aged midriffs.
But it might not have been such a good day for shearing sheep small dogs...
even though the situation was becoming desperate.
I don't think she likes her new hairstyle. There there, says her beloved teddy; it'll grow back soon. The dog is not consoled; how can she face her public looking scalped?
Posted by rachel at 17:58