Today I confronted mortality at close range.
I had positively creaked out of bed with every muscle thrumming most unpleasantly, the inexorable after effect of two days of compost barrowing. Thinking that a few gentle pilates stretches would likely do the business I did the hamstring thing and limbered up to see if there was anything to be done about the hips (they may not lie but they do grumble). Sinking into a wide legged squat with considerable grace and élan (you will have to take my word for this) I congratulated myself smugly on getting my hands flat on the floor. From here it was but a swan like glide onto all fours in preparation for that wobbly thing with one leg and one hand. I took the required deep breath, lengthened my spine in the approved manner and opened my eyes to find my nose somewhat less that a cat’s whisker from from a headless mouse accessorised by this season’s must have, an external gall bladder. This all proved quite restorative and, perked up no end by the clear advantages of my connected head and complete suite of internal organs, I promptly gave myself a day off gardening, donned cream dungarees to prevent backsliding, and abandoned myself to hedonism.
With only the teeniest pang over missed weeding opportunities Mum, Lyra and I headed for the river. For once we were not blown flat and Mum and I ambled along enjoying the sun on our backs whilst Lyra ran around like a loon rolling in everything unspeakable that she could find. In a somewhat ironic twist, whilst Lyra was rummaging in the undergrowth Mum and I found a head with no body on the path. Mum’s initial diagnosis that this was “some sort of bird” confirmed my suspicions that the world of veterinary medicine dodged a bullet when she entered the textile trade. Unabashed, she hung grimly on to the salmon head to ensure that Lyra would not get it and strode off down towards the nearest beat, Lyra following at her heels, where she hurled the offending item into the river. Lyra conveyed her displeasure at this wasteful behaviour by promptly locating what looked very much like the decomposing tail end of the same fish and chewing it ostentatiously. The day was much too lovely to fall out over piscine skeletons so we gave this the Nelsonian eye. All along the bank the scrub willows were studded with sleek silver grey catkins and the sun on the water glittered like magnesium flares. Our friendly egret treated us to a fly past and the most enormous heron on the far bank ignored us with the studied gravity of an elderly butler.
We’ve had a few lovely walks recently. Down in the Hirsel it is calving season and we were lucky enough to catch one extremely new little fellow getting a thorough clean up licking. We have another month (at least) to go before Shuna’s calf makes an appearance, but I do find myself tensing slightly if there is an outbreak of mooing. Lyra disturbed a young deer down behind the lake on our last trip. Our bold hound ran up and down, coated in pond mud to the knees, thoroughly pleased with herself, whilst the deer quietly melted into a tangled thicket of brambles and hazels just behind me. They have pollarded the willows behind the lake and these have a look of Easter Island sculptures. I am definitely going to have a go at this. I moved a self sown willow into a suitable nook a few years ago and I think it’s now big enough to risk giving it the big chop.
I had a little wander around the garden when we got back. It was lovely just to enjoy what’s new without a spade in my hands. All along the back track there are little pockets of violets and primroses and where the sun hits the quadrant bed a profusion of blue chiondoxa. The first wood anemones are emerging in the nuttery and by the stream and in the hot garden I can see spiky tops of crown imperials. Pingu was lurking by the back track as we passed, and he followed us all round the garden. I wonder if he thinks I pocketed his mouse? I’m not sure Keith has been forgiven entirely for disposing of the headless rabbit last week. As the evening chill settled I wandered up to my garret for a bit of a sew before dinner and, yet a further treat was in store. My clivia has flowered.
