Squishy November days in The Enchanted Village
It's a squishy kind of day here in The Enchanted Village.
The rain wafts in sheets across the fields. And the trees on faraway Bluebell Hill roar as if their branch-lungs might burst.
Cow tracks become rivulets, with water charging down the hill to meet the stream far, far in the distance, each droplet declaring the last one there is a sissy.
Wellington boots are a must. And this is not the time of year to discover you're got a leak. Wellies just ain't what they used to be.
Rainy mist covers the village where the workmen's vans jostle for space as the days of their owners are spent building, renovating, plumbing and scaffolding.
Yesterday, the cattle moved through the Lush Places village square to pastures new. It was a fair old feat, this, the farming family providing an escort at the front, back and sides of this skittish procession.
"What you doing up there? shouted the patriarch from his 4x4 as I struggled to open the upstairs window to take a picture.
"I wouldn't have missed this for the world," I said. He drove on, probably thinking that as I was looking from a bedroom window I'd just got up.
But I'm up early-ish these days, taking the dog out for her morning exercise, come rain or come shine. Even with a flashing torch, though, and a high-vis tabard, the speeding cars still do their best to run me over, careering through the surface water as if they're on a splashing theme park ride.
It's now nearly ten o'clock - time for a morning cuppa - and the sky is still as dark as a bag. It's not just Christmas I'm looking forward to. Roll on the Winter Solstice.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
The rain wafts in sheets across the fields. And the trees on faraway Bluebell Hill roar as if their branch-lungs might burst.
Cow tracks become rivulets, with water charging down the hill to meet the stream far, far in the distance, each droplet declaring the last one there is a sissy.
Wellington boots are a must. And this is not the time of year to discover you're got a leak. Wellies just ain't what they used to be.
Rainy mist covers the village where the workmen's vans jostle for space as the days of their owners are spent building, renovating, plumbing and scaffolding.
Yesterday, the cattle moved through the Lush Places village square to pastures new. It was a fair old feat, this, the farming family providing an escort at the front, back and sides of this skittish procession.
"What you doing up there? shouted the patriarch from his 4x4 as I struggled to open the upstairs window to take a picture.
"I wouldn't have missed this for the world," I said. He drove on, probably thinking that as I was looking from a bedroom window I'd just got up.
But I'm up early-ish these days, taking the dog out for her morning exercise, come rain or come shine. Even with a flashing torch, though, and a high-vis tabard, the speeding cars still do their best to run me over, careering through the surface water as if they're on a splashing theme park ride.
It's now nearly ten o'clock - time for a morning cuppa - and the sky is still as dark as a bag. It's not just Christmas I'm looking forward to. Roll on the Winter Solstice.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
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