More rain yesterday.
Rain last night. The ground is sopping wet. The farmers cannot get into their fields. This morning the birds are less than cheerful. It has been cold and damp.
I shower and dress for work earlier this morning than usual, earlier by an hour and a half. I have an early meeting at work. My morning habit is disrupted. We'll get back to routine tomorrow, to the chains that bind me and free me. If you want to put words on paper, at some point you have to put your butt in a chair, at a desk, and put pen in hand. My morning habit frees me to do just that.
It is a green thickness in the trees. The pond looks a little higher than usual. Greyness overhead reflected in the rippled surface of the water.
For a week or more, grass has laid cut in the field where the canning factory sprays its waste water just north of the village. The grass has turned to brown windrows, yet it is very wet with the rain we've been having and probably has little nutritional value at this point. If it can be salvaged at all, it will only be good for bedding.
The county fellows are already in position at 6:00 a.m. They are going to tear up some more road today. I admit that sometimes you do have to tear up before you lay down.
Comments