i woke up in the clouds this morning. the farm buried in the soft white. unusually silent, the life sounds muffled by the surrounding cloud. the hawthorn tree,white with blossom, vague, lurking in the distance.
i had slept late, i had been up till the wee hours and my room under the eaves has blackout blinds. i am now convinced there must be some type of noxious gas polluting the air of my place in ballantrae. when i'm home i spend a large proportion of my time sleeping, i have even been known to fall asleep whilst typing! one day of good farm air and i am up and running, reading without falling asleep, watching the telly without falling asleep and best of all...writing without falling asleep.
this afternoon i drove down, out of the clouds, mission...collect meds i should have picked up on friday. i was delighted to find my village still there and with very little difficulty, remembered the purpose of my jaunt. then, a quick visit home to pick up my messages and make a few calls.a decent cup of coffee, wash the few dishes i had left in my rush to reach the farm before the children left.
back into my lady rav, she growling with pleasure as we climbed back into the clouds.
ayrshire in the spring time, the gorse bleeding hard yellow against the green hills, the blue of forget-me-nots, the pale gold of primrose bedecking the banks of the burn. the softness of the almost rain and the welcome lack of freezing in the mist.