The sun had long since in the lap
Of Thetis taken out his nap,
And, like a lobster boil’d, the morn
From black to red began to turn.
samuel butler
hudibras. part ii. canto ii. line 29
morning mist
The sun had long since in the lap
Of Thetis taken out his nap,
And, like a lobster boil’d, the morn
From black to red began to turn.
samuel butler
hudibras. part ii. canto ii. line 29
perfect greys
this morning I was lucky enough to spot a grey heron perched on the top of one of our conifers. he has always frequented our grounds but never has he posed for me with such majesty. indeed, this is the first time I have seen him (or her) for over a year.
. . . now who thinks grey is not a beautiful colour?
unreal
friday 5th october
7am . . .
For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e’er resign’d,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing ling’ring look behind?
thomas gray
Elegy in a Country Churchyard. Stanza 22
a likely tale . . .
tuesday 2nd october
everything is still, an eternal blue sky undisturbed by any vaporous trespasser seems to be replicated here on earth in both movement and sound. as if the whole atmosphere has been granted a day of rest, a restraining order imposed on any unholy interference. even when the wagon turns up to deliver next door's new electronic gadget the usual noises of mechanical and human activity are dulled in an instant and at once reabsorbed into the stillness of the day. two raf jets zoom through the glen at low level in quick succession and the immediate ensuing hush belies the fact that they were ever there.
a charming little ditty for your delectation . . .
this morning's cross country pursuit was subsequently recalled as a false start . . .
leeloo and I set off at a good pace up the track as usual confident that meea would follow soon, in her own time, as is her wont. meea, however, has other ideas and continues to leisurely meander around the homestead. these two intrepid pioneers carry on without fluster or indication of impatience for she will soon realise what a joyous enterprise from which she may be excluding herself, I surmise, confidently if mistakenly. arriving at the fork some three or four hundred yards hence and loitering there for several minutes there is still no sign of her. I recall that the our absentee had been sniffing around the path that the strange black beast from rowan cottage would daily follow on his way down to the disused railway track with his master. the day before I had espied the game little thing carrying veritably half a tree down the track though he was not of great proportions, accompanying said master who was returning, laden with basket in hand, from a mission to procure firewood from the brash field beyond. upon my enquiry the lad had reassuringly informed me that his charge had indeed been deprived of his package and was therefore not planning on fatherhood in the carnal sense.
concerned that meea may have decided to explore the track in the other direction, towards the main road, we started to double back along the bottom track in case she had chosen that route. no more than a dozen paces further on that delinquent absconder comes bounding joyously out of the bushes patently oblivious to our concerns.
the previous day's exploits were of a much graver nature . . .
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
yesterday it had been my intention to take them on a good walk. at the old and now defunct railway junction I turned the corner with the intention of taking them up into glenogle towards lochearnhead, maybe as far as the viaduct, but they stubbornly sat there on that corner, fixed as statues like beasts of myth and legend standing guard at the portals to some forbidden sanctum, eyeing up a young family group who were picnicking on the old platform. I continued up the track a couple of hundred yards and, with no sign of the dogs, sat on a rock, rolled a cigarette and waited. ten minutes went by with no promise of a happy reunion so I walked briskly back to where I had last seen them. a few yards further down I came across the family who were making their way in my direction. I enquired of them as to whether they might have come across a couple of rather good-looking gold-coloured dogs. a charming young fellow, presumably the father at once informed me that he had indeed seen the said animals and that they had headed off in the same direction from whence we had originally come. though young leeloo must had taken account of the bearing that I had chosen not so many minutes before, my faithful companion had taken it upon herself to follow meea rather than seek out her doting custodian. after half a mile or so, I chanced to hear barking apparently emanating from down the hill to my left in the direction of the main carriageway so I attempted to transmit a signal in the form of a piercing whistle, a trick I had learnt from a rough-looking fellow with a curious stooping gait and cider-breath that I had the misfortune to chance upon on a sojourn through the west country several years previously, and indeed there were to be heard several barks seemingly in reply. assuming that it might be my two darlings, trapped perhaps in some loathsome ditch, I continued to issue that high-pitched communication but soon the barking ceased. I hitched up my britches and made my way down through the brash and over the sodden marsh to the lower track. there was still no response to my summons and I proceeded along that path in some distress.
with no sign, audible or visual, by which to assess their whereabouts or circumstance, I returned to the original route with the intention of collecting my diesel-powered carriage and driving it to the point directly below whence I assumed the barking to have emanated. before reaching the said vehicle I chanced upon a group that comprised a young lady with whom I am well acquainted and three bounding canines whose group included the two objects of my concern. oh happy day! they had apparently returned to the homestead of their own accord and had been relaxing on the patio, without a care.
our blessed union was, once again, complete and there was cause for celebration
so they were each treated to a pig's ear and I smoked a roll-up
so endeth this sorry tale
author's note
the pic at the bottom of the page was, in fact, taken the day after when it was pissing down but I like it anyway
dawn . . .
thursday 4th october
between 6.30 and 7am
Mahomet made the people believe that he would call a hill to him, and from the top of it offer up his prayers for the observers of his law. The people assembled. Mahomet called the hill to come to him, again and again; and when the hill stood still he was never a whit abashed, but said, “If the hill will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet will go to the hill.”
francis bacon
1561-1626
wednesday 3rd october
mailing to a great friend and muse
welcome back to the virtual world!
oh cosmic one
how superbly wonderful to have you, once more,
roaming these hallowed ethereal halls.
these houses of the holy,
may they be visited by only the truly faithful
long live golden locks and st jim the ultimate
master robin is out there wings flapping in expectation
prrr prrr prrr from branch to branch
last night we heard him sing the most beautiful of songs
he has the x factor, there is no doubt
this morning he utters not a squeak
no free gig until the stomach if full
it is always he who has the first dance
the finches and tits soon follow
as soon as they have been granted permission
and then they too will take their sustenance
and leave their poo as payment
pea-green's heart beats like a hammer
and my muse is back in town
saints alive and glory be!
this body was slow to rise
and the day is dreich
but now the motor's running
nirvana's within reach
good to hear your love
at last has got it sorted
wish you the best of luck tomorrow
I'm always here for troubled times
so don't forget to say
if things are hard to handle
I wish for you the best
that luck can send your way
meea and leeloo are thriving and are growing by the day. meea is becoming quite independent and is happy to wander around the property on her own, visiting favourite areas, lying contentedly and unmovable in the middle of the track. no vehicle shall pass! leeloo is turning into a love monster and exudes a soulful vibe wherever she goes.
life, as it has been here
from the very beginning
is perfect
blue october .. afternoon
there's not enough hours in a day . . .
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty
richard lovelace
To Althea from Prison, iv
blue october
monday 1st october
7.30 am
What in me is darkIllumine, what is low raise and support,
That to the height of this great argument
I may assert eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men
john milton
paradise lost book I line 22
although I am not a 'believer' the spirituality of milton's words will always reach a part deep in me for their connection with the spiritual and here, in this heavenly place, that spirit, demonstrated at once by the naked truth of nature's essence, is evident in its grandeur
all is quiet 'cept the twittering of our avian guests and the occasional sigh from leeloo who is lying contentedly on her stomach in her usual morning place in the kitchen doorway, her chin rested on her legs, paws stretched out in front of her, an epilogue to the night's peaceful repose.
come on sleepy things, we could do with the prologue to the rest of the day now
slow start to a dreich day . . .
saturday 29th september
7.30am
the girls are a slow rising today. "we do not move when we are in total snooze mode . . . and, anyway, it's saturday, it's the weekend!"
how do they know? certainly, I did not tell them; no socially-conscious mouse or casual spirit has paid an overnight visit to pass on this information, at least as far as I know.
the dormitory light is activated and 'yellow submarine' is, somewhat mercilessly, blasted through the speakers. sleepy heads rise without apparent connection to the torso, displaying distinct expressions of bewilderment tinged with annoyance. sometimes, I can be so cruel.
eventually we trundle out into the dark morn. camera-laden, I lead the way but the still half-asleep sisters are not keeping up and there is more sideways movement than forward progression. ignoring this I continue down the lane in the hope that, having remembered to bring the camera, the deer will make themselves available for this wildlife voyeur to record on 'film'. unhappily, but as expected, that opportunity is not forthcoming but there is, at least, the chance to try some low-light shooting and the light is perfect to capture the magical atmosphere.
on our return, famished from my demanding physical effort, I cheerfully decant the contents of the yogurt pot into last night's ashtray. despite the ingestion of two cups of strong black coffee and the usual accompaniment of two seared nicotine and tar wraps the gearbox still seems to be stuck in low ratio. outside, the postman has drawn up in his hired van and as we come out to greet him he presents me with a mysterious package plastered with chinese symbols and I try to remember if I might have ordered some exotic potion,maybe powdered dingbat hip or some other alien concoction in a moment of reverie. still deep in my own personal dreamworld I take in his forecast that it will be a beautiful sunny day. I look up and wonder if he might have imbibed some of the contents. it turns out to be nothing more exciting than the spectacle frames I ordered a couple of weeks ago.
oh well . . .
clearing out and moving the big cabinets upstairs today and then trying to find a home for the tons of unwanted culinary hardware and out of date comestibles. what fun!
in a rut, deer?
friday 28th september
7.14am
thought for the day:
mnnnngggggjtfl87,567***
a couple of weeks ago, to celebrate this virtual leap into the literary bath dressed in nothing but the traditional virtual birthday suit, I ordered refills for writing implements of such obscure nature that they had, many blue moons ago, been consigned to a domicile at the back of an unopened and dusty filing cabinet drawer in a forgotten corner of the junk room, seemingly, for perpetuity. I, once again, must sing my song of praise for this miracle of internetting, aware that this rendition has been rendered(?) oh, so many times already. two of my favouritest implements are now in constant use at my desk and in the kitchen for no less distinguished tasks than illegible scribbled notations and shopping lists. ah, if only those past and present masters of the calligraphic arts could see me now.
I cursed myself earlier for not taking my camera on our morning stroll. it seems that every time something momentous occurs I have nothing with which to record the event and when I do remember, there is nothing to note but the constancy of nature though that is more than enough for this meagre correspondent. this time it was the troupe of eight red deer gracefully making their way through the brash crossing the track to disappear into the breaghaid albainh (pronounced bredálban) forest. meea and leeloo were also thrilled at this potential social event and went tearing off down the hill to make friends but the deer were blissfully ignorant of their efforts and continued purposefully on their travels. this evening they will return when the light is fading as is their habit. at the break of each day they will take the same route from their nighttime rutting grounds to their grazing area high up on meall sgallachd (mel shcályach), the hill on which we live. through the night, now the rutting season has arrived, one can often hear their screams, as they do to each other things I dread to imagine though they seem quite relaxed and untroubled come the morn. beverly hills must be a bit like that. in the absence of any true recording of this morning's observations I have taken the liberty of displaying library photos of some of the subjects referred to in this piece with the certain promise that a true rendition will be forthcoming in future accounts, happily, not including any wild transatlantic activity.
that's it fer th'noo
7.14am
thought for the day:
mnnnngggggjtfl87,567***
a couple of weeks ago, to celebrate this virtual leap into the literary bath dressed in nothing but the traditional virtual birthday suit, I ordered refills for writing implements of such obscure nature that they had, many blue moons ago, been consigned to a domicile at the back of an unopened and dusty filing cabinet drawer in a forgotten corner of the junk room, seemingly, for perpetuity. I, once again, must sing my song of praise for this miracle of internetting, aware that this rendition has been rendered(?) oh, so many times already. two of my favouritest implements are now in constant use at my desk and in the kitchen for no less distinguished tasks than illegible scribbled notations and shopping lists. ah, if only those past and present masters of the calligraphic arts could see me now.
I cursed myself earlier for not taking my camera on our morning stroll. it seems that every time something momentous occurs I have nothing with which to record the event and when I do remember, there is nothing to note but the constancy of nature though that is more than enough for this meagre correspondent. this time it was the troupe of eight red deer gracefully making their way through the brash crossing the track to disappear into the breaghaid albainh (pronounced bredálban) forest. meea and leeloo were also thrilled at this potential social event and went tearing off down the hill to make friends but the deer were blissfully ignorant of their efforts and continued purposefully on their travels. this evening they will return when the light is fading as is their habit. at the break of each day they will take the same route from their nighttime rutting grounds to their grazing area high up on meall sgallachd (mel shcályach), the hill on which we live. through the night, now the rutting season has arrived, one can often hear their screams, as they do to each other things I dread to imagine though they seem quite relaxed and untroubled come the morn. beverly hills must be a bit like that. in the absence of any true recording of this morning's observations I have taken the liberty of displaying library photos of some of the subjects referred to in this piece with the certain promise that a true rendition will be forthcoming in future accounts, happily, not including any wild transatlantic activity.
that's it fer th'noo
of hormones and comestibles . . .
wednesday 26th september
mostly morning in between doing other bits and pieces
a shroud of mist envelopes ben lawers in a matter of minutes. moments ago the vast white swathe was framed, clearly defined, against a luminescent blue sky illuminated by broad beams of soft cadmium yellow reaching out from the east. the sharp outline of that summit giving false prospect, as it invariably does, of a clear day. in the few moments it takes us to travel halfway along our brief morning stroll, this once opaque blanket has dissipated into an almost translucent gossamer-thin wisp that obscures all but the very edges of the western sky though the sun is still free, for the moment at least, to spread its sparkling autumn rays.
a doggie interlude . . .
it has come to my notice that leeloo has been paying more attention to cleaning herself of late. her transition to womanhood is starting and I will pay more attention to their protection for the next few weeks as they will be more vulnerable to infection. I suspect that meea is also coming into season though she is not displaying any obvious signs. as they are litter sisters I am assuming their hormone cycles will coincide, at least, approximately. sometime soon I will have to test for pinking around her vulva, not a very blokey task to have to undertake but needs must.
they are now each consuming the equivalent of between four and five cans of wet food every day and have not, as yet, reached the end of their ninth month. their appearance belies their actual size because of their perfect proportions and it is not until seen next to bogey, himself an impressive beast, that their true size can be appreciated. how fast they will continue to grow is not certain but I have read that they will not reach full physical maturity until they are two and a half years old.
keeping slim? . . . fat chance!
in the meantime, I, who have allegedly reached at least physical maturity, am constantly in the grip of extreme hunger now that the chill is in the air, and consumption of foodstuffs, beneficial and otherwise, is well on the increase. during the summer months I would, typically, intake a total of one yogurt and up to five pieces of fruit before dinner. today, for example, I have eaten an extremely thick cheese sandwich albeit between two pieces of ryvita, three pieces of toast and butter, a tin of vegetable soup, about a dozen pieces of licorice (the sweetie variety), a yogurt and two pieces of fruit; and it is only half-past two. this constant cycle of shoving food down my neck and the resulting size increase in the gut department is threatening to weaken my defences against the lethargic offensive that I am still determined to neutralise. thank the gods there are no choccies in this fortress. of course, even mild fluctuations of temperature can have the same unwanted relaxing effect so I find myself between a cold and a fat place.
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