Posted by Tania Kindersley.
Can’t do any more News. I return, slowly, to the Sitting Very Still plan. Outside my window, the black-faced gulls have come in from the coast, and are wheeling in formation over the long grass. The lone heron, who has been absent for months, suddenly makes a reappearance, and glides along the tree-line. He looks, as always, like something from The Ancient Mariner. Inside, the dogs twitch and yip in their sleep, dreaming of rabbits.
My lovely stepsister is visiting, with her small daughter. The step-niece is adorable. She very kindly laughs at my jokes, giving me a quizzical look as she does so, as if she cannot quite work out whether I am funny ha-ha, or funny peculiar. Most days, I cannot work it out myself.
Last night, the Brother came for a glass of honest Italian red.
‘It’s fruity,’ I said.
‘Oh yes,’ he said.
We talked of family, music, the planting of trees, ambitions, his love of the Far East. We did not speak of our father, although we were thinking of him.
He left at half-past ten. It is still quite bright at that time, up here in the north. The sky goes a sort of singing blue, and takes on an extra dimension. The moon was almost full, hanging low in the sky, a real hunter’s moon, a colour for which there is no word in the English language. Gold will not quite do it, although that comes the closest.
‘Look at La Bella Luna,’ I shouted.
For some reason I always think the moon has to be in Italian, for full effect.
We stared at it, and my family of swallows swooped low over our heads, singing their night song.
I looked down, and noticed the Brother was wearing purple suede shoes. You have to be a very certain kind of fellow to get away with purple suede.
‘Nice shoes,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They are purple.’
We contemplated this fact for a moment.
‘They damn well are,’ I said.
Pictures today are of trees and flowers:
And The Pigeon, of course. Here she is, deep in the flowerbed, rummaging for rabbits:
And on watch:
Today’s hill, in panorama: