Posted by Tania Kindersley.
Out in the world, there is terrible news, from Syria and Colorado. People are shooting and dying. There are no good adjectives for that. I’ve been thinking about it all day, and there’s nothing much to write. It’s where the bare sentence fails.
So I concentrated very hard on the small things. This is what I do when I am baffled by the world. The Younger Brother is here, which is always a banner occasion, on account of him living six thousand miles east. There was family breakfast. I showed him the mare. He was slightly distracted; I’m not sure he fully appreciated her beauty, but I shall drum it into him before he leaves.
I worked with the horses; I made a pastrami sandwich for lunch; I made a rather desultory stab at my new project. There are days when the writing rhythms won’t come and this was one of them. I bash on, feeling as if I am always leading on the wrong foot.
In the evening, the sky cleared and the fine amber Scottish light spread itself over the mountains, like a balm. Up at Red’s view, the swallows were swooping low over the grass, singing in the sudden warmth. Down in the garden, the Pigeon and I played with a stick, to her intense delight. I inspected the foxgloves, which have gone crazy this year. Last year, they had all disappeared, so I went out foraging, and dug some up and transplanted them to the wild garden. They have seeded themselves, and now look as if they are ready to take over the place. I love them.
I need an old lady early night, and tomorrow there shall be better sentences and proper work. Outside my window, everything is still and filled with clarity. The world feels very far away.
The garden, this evening:
Myfanwy the Pony:
Red, doing her Minnie the Moocher amble, as she comes to say hello. Dozing pony in background:
Pigeon with happy stick face: