The day galloped away from me like a crazed colt on a Mongolian plain. There is no time or energy left to write anything useful. All I seem to have been doing for the last forty-eight hours is battling with the deluge and the mud. I know I said one must experience the rain, but there are limits. Thanks to the miraculous new rug technology, so different from when I was young and it was basically a bit of green canvas New Zealand or bust, the horses stayed warm and dry. But still, endless downpour and floods are not their favoured conditions.
I felt very proud of the red mare. Her duchessy streak and her fine breeding might lead one to suspect she would grow grumpy or make a fuss in the filthy dreich. But she becomes wonderfully calm and stoical, putting her head down and getting on with it. She deals with the whole thing much better than I.
And today, as the light came again, she was at her dearest and sweetest and best, funny and affectionate and philosophical. She is a fine example, and I try to live up to her.
Just time for some quick pictures for you, of the floods and the Beloveds, and a bit of lichen, because we have not had nearly enough lichen lately. Don’t know WHAT I’ve been thinking. Must sharpen up:
Oh, oh, OH, that face: