tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12124617865299637472024-03-14T03:47:33.258+01:00Out with MolUp the road or down, sometimes further afield, often not for long, we're out most days.Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.comBlogger757125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-9136739867306507872014-07-08T11:29:00.002+02:002014-07-22T23:10:13.058+02:00Vet's surgery, Loudeac, morning. The last thirty words.Now's the time. In the end her spirit passes lightly and gently, but she leaves all her love behind. She has always been with us and she always will be.Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-48197203016379687692014-07-04T22:02:00.000+02:002014-07-04T22:02:40.573+02:00Woods between Quessoy and Hénon, morning.Molly no longer knows where she is, but I stop where she used to bark and wind down the windows. She raises her head and snuffs the cool woody breezes.Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-28918022822406872112014-05-29T21:18:00.000+02:002014-05-29T21:18:14.980+02:00Hill above Hénon, morningCool and damp, Mol just bathed. They've stripped out the gorse next to the parking which seems a shame for the birds but leaves a clearer view to the sea.Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-62558272847356482352014-04-17T12:03:00.001+02:002014-04-17T12:09:36.671+02:00Hill above Hénon, morningSounds of mistle thrush, robin, wren, blackbird, stonechat, yellowhammer, chaffinch, blue and great tits, cuckoo.<br />
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Picot edging and Amos Barton. <br />
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Sea in the distance; Mol dozing in a the sun.Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-81358514647131280382014-04-14T18:59:00.000+02:002014-04-14T18:59:01.835+02:00Down the road, eveningSwallows are properly back at last, sorrel is bolting already into sharp red points, poplars in the valley are beaten copper behind the white cherry blossom, a marvel every year.Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-18544484399529624862014-04-06T13:05:00.002+02:002014-04-06T13:05:51.597+02:00Down the road, eveningTop-lit piles of bright cloud are cross-hatched by still bare poplars, everything is late but there's a green sheen on the willows now and the verges are sprinkled with stitchwort.Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-15063277179780623042014-03-12T22:02:00.004+01:002015-05-15T17:25:04.765+02:00Down the road, eveningThe fire lit, a quick turn. A midwife toad chirps.<br />
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'And woodthrush calling through the fog<br />
What images return<br />
My daughter.'<br />
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Those lines were dear to him, I know.Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-28725138241889356292014-02-13T11:45:00.001+01:002014-02-13T11:45:12.497+01:00Down the road, afternoon.It's chilly, the weather's been atrocious, Molly is recovering from a bad back, but we are happy to take the gentlest of turns and sniff the air and the grass.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-35071596097517758432014-02-01T11:55:00.002+01:002014-02-01T11:55:44.594+01:00Down the road, evening.Again and again this relief, gratitude, disbelief nearly, that we can once more walk in daylight at six o'clock. I can see why, perhaps, they raised stones to ensure it.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-10095456233418789112014-01-13T17:39:00.002+01:002014-01-13T17:39:51.869+01:00Up the road, afternoon (Saturday)Sunshine, people emerge like squirrels. Blue sky in the standing water of the empty maize field, the silvered winter stalks inscribe it like a lost alphabet. The inland hills sharp.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-52948268377080029282014-01-10T20:37:00.002+01:002014-01-10T20:37:48.421+01:00Trédaniel plan d'eau, afternoonReturning jump leads to the garage opposite, engine running, Mol requests a (very) quick walk. A bright shimmer on the face of the water: an afterthought of the Christmas gales.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-15336301676664304372013-12-29T20:47:00.001+01:002013-12-29T20:47:43.036+01:00Up the road, morning.Sunshine. Fieldfare in the ash tree shouts loud as a magpie. Little old dog, slow and distracted, cheerful.<br />
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My heart full and heavy as a silk purse filled with gold.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-78114769653000556832013-10-02T19:00:00.000+02:002013-10-02T19:00:18.553+02:00Down the road, evening.There are splashes and flashes of light and shadow across the world, a theatre of sun and wind conducted from very high by a dancing cirrus djinn with ribboning fingers.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-7463773867025561782013-10-02T18:52:00.000+02:002013-10-02T18:52:04.002+02:00Up the road, afternoon.Daddy-longlegs are everywhere, floundering stupidly over road and verges, banging into us. Why aren't there birds to eat them? The swallows could have feasted but it's too late, they're gone.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-70723599952716883992013-09-09T18:37:00.002+02:002013-09-09T18:37:31.038+02:00Trédaniel plan d'eau, afternoon.The shadows of trout, red-finned and huge, drift then splash and churn the water noisily as I pass. Oh please no, not the bloody Schubert Trout Suite earworm again...<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-3723063430449994922013-09-03T21:09:00.002+02:002013-09-03T21:09:26.431+02:00Down the road, evening.The sun has set on us, but not on the maize one field away, nor the masts on Bel-Air, nor the jet-trails above, nor the wings of six gulls flying.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-55351698408624375902013-09-01T20:53:00.001+02:002013-09-01T20:53:41.235+02:00Down the road, eveningThere are plenty of swallows flying, but I realise they are no longer gathering in chattering crowds on the wires, or waking us early, singing from the gutters and aerial.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-28289743291657315682013-09-01T20:50:00.000+02:002013-09-01T20:50:00.720+02:00Down the road, Friday eveningAm odd patch of yellow catches my eye; we take the field track to see. It is a single sunflower, with a round, pale centre, self-seeded among the feed cabbages.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-83187990691758382132013-09-01T20:45:00.001+02:002013-09-01T20:45:59.209+02:00Down the road, Thursday early evening.Large white butterflies in their hundreds flutter everywhere like scraps of torn paper, feeding, mating, dropping and dying, their bodies, or sometimes just their wings, littered on road and verges.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-12640100804875186392013-09-01T20:39:00.001+02:002013-09-01T20:39:47.574+02:00Trédaniel plan d'eau, MondayAt the edge of the water, a couple of enormous water beetles nudge around in the mud. We had one like that in our pond once, which we named Gargantua.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-82886675214122537012013-07-26T07:45:00.002+02:002013-07-26T07:45:35.201+02:00Down the road, eveningThe red tractor and trailer enters the cut wheatfield, and half submerges in choppy waves of straw. It will gather these up and turn them into golden studs of bales.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-46456075337995802472013-07-05T23:31:00.003+02:002013-07-05T23:33:17.296+02:00Down the road, evening.Having long assumed it's a plane, discovering another a few miles away, I conclude next-door's tree is a flowerless tulip tree. Odd, a tulip-less tulip tree, but perhaps not intentional.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-29250535155698165592013-07-05T23:23:00.000+02:002013-07-05T23:24:46.359+02:00Down the road, evening.The sorrel was a rust-pink haze, the hogweed flowered and seeded in upward asymmetrical, art nouveau curves like something from the Paris metro.<br />
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Both are cut, will grow back.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-24753075570526014602013-05-26T19:39:00.001+02:002013-05-26T19:39:22.019+02:00Down the road, afternoon; rough winds do shake...Victor's apple tree in blossom has been a glory, but now the petals whirl from the branches in horizontal clouds, speckle the road and follow us home into the hall.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1212461786529963747.post-14823792209321768252013-05-26T19:35:00.000+02:002013-05-26T19:35:00.914+02:00Up the road, evening.A group of young cattle run to see us. One is almost pure white, scarcely any black. Once she might have been considered rare and precious; perhaps she still is.<br />
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Lucyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09764296105901909328noreply@blogger.com0