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puddlesharkA very mild October this year. Along the roadside verges Scabious and Knapweed and Mallow are still flowering.
But this morning felt like a proper November day. Grey. No light. A fine cold drizzle in the air.
Met the Poodle Twins out in the forest, once Max's mortal enemies. But that was long enough ago that they have given up barking at me on sight. They are eleven years old now. And one of them, still given to chasing deer even at such an advanced age, was wearing the GPS tracking collar of shame.
Coming back through the village, a faint north wind stirring the leaves but not the branches of the ornamental trees. A heron seen taking off from a back garden where, I suppose, there is a fishpond that is not netted. Goldfish for breakfast.
But this morning felt like a proper November day. Grey. No light. A fine cold drizzle in the air.
Met the Poodle Twins out in the forest, once Max's mortal enemies. But that was long enough ago that they have given up barking at me on sight. They are eleven years old now. And one of them, still given to chasing deer even at such an advanced age, was wearing the GPS tracking collar of shame.
Coming back through the village, a faint north wind stirring the leaves but not the branches of the ornamental trees. A heron seen taking off from a back garden where, I suppose, there is a fishpond that is not netted. Goldfish for breakfast.
