An amazing number of words.
Good twenty-minute increments.
Another of the Dear Departeds departs.
Procrastination. I wish I could do something about it. I think: I’ll deal with it tomorrow.
HorseBack, with moody hills.
Some not very good news.
A faint feeling of unease.
The sweet, soothing presence of the red mare.
A smile at the thought of Frankel’s birthday.
A fret about things undone.
A contemplation of the power of the simple, declarative sentence.
Kindness on the internet.
A very bad hair day.
Quite a lot of laughing.
One lovely winning bet.
A ham sandwich.
Thoughts of grammar.
One excited dog; one bloody big stick.
And, in the end, after all that, there was sun. Thick, ancient, Scottish sun, the colour of amber.
Today’s hill, back in all her glory: