This November marks my tenth anniversary of blogging. Still here. And in keeping with tradition, I'm going to post every day of November, just because I can. Toning up the blogging muscles, carrying the camera, getting back into the habit of recording the
mundane quotidian etc, nothing very ambitious except to post every day.
We have been having an October as they always should be, and frequently are, these Indian summers surprise almost with the regularity of spring; chill, thin, misty mornings blooming and filling out into golden, luminous afternoons. I have a dog again who runs with joy in sunlit fields and gets me out again to appreciate these days afresh. Her paraphernalia of lead and clicker and treats take up space and hands, so carrying the camera, even when I think to, is more of an awkward effort, and I'm missing my sleeveless walking vests with their multiple pockets, which along with winter coats and the sofa throws and cushions and several carpets and quite a few other things are still at the dry cleaners post-fire, but when the decorators have finished, which shouldn't be long, we'll get them back.
This is our twentieth year of living here, so I've been blogging for more than half of that. Despite their beauty, these open, airy, largely empty, agrarian uplands, maize and manure and tractors and shotguns three times a week through the autumn and much of the winter, are losing their appeal for me. I find I want, rather a lot, to be among riverside villages and ports and apple orchards. It may yet happen.