Ash Wednesday

Woke up. Went back to bed. It's Ash Wednesday. And the time is a quarter to six. Almost a year after this Covid thing took away our freedoms. In little more than 11 months and it might be finally vanishing from view as the television news and newspapers have other headlines to throw at helpless captives who face the back of the cave looking at remote shadows and partake in remote learning. Social, hunter gather animals, forced to withhold nature for a handful of probable deaths: those with underlying health issues mainly. In a nation rife with unhealth, extended old age, pharmaceutical products preventing the withering of natural limbs, etc, how many of the deaths were "overdue". No one wants to die, but, surely, that isn't something we really have a say in: mortal as we really are (although there are actors out there who seem to think they're immortal).

It's been several months since I've sat down and entertained Blogger with my seldom art: writing what pours out of these pitted veins! Today is Ash Wednesday. 40 days to try, with some real help, to get righted; again. This ship is stranded on the beach waiting for the spring tide to lift it up and away. Back to bob merrily in the wake of the Colossus which strides heavily along the shore. 

This morning I'm walking Ruby and, perhaps, Lola too? Ruby is a two (plus) year-old Vizsla with a joie de vivre. She's a very young, bouncing, fun and kisses, muddy pawed attentiveness! Oh the what a shame Lola had her accident so early and missed out on all the fun of being a limitless beastie... But as nearing six she's still the only girl for me! Her ways define her being and there is no other way to celebrate her than going her way in the current, no matter how choppy it was!

Mainly I have been lacking enthusiasm over the passed Covid year. It's effect is widely known and I've attempted to only put up the mainsail during the calmer lulls. Otherwise it's been a full on gale, and the weather hasn't been particularly nice either, this side of Autumn.

Finally we had a real winter, with Siberian winds desiccating and thick ice dwelling on the multiplicity of puddles, ponds, floods, calf deep mud and growing along fast flowing streams and hanging as icicles. The beer I made in the new year is lagering nicely, surrounded by a thick layer of ice crystals in the (emptied) fridge.

Now the weather has changed, for a more springlike suggestion, the churned up thick Autumn mud, where too many lockdown feet passed, has been revealed. The going is really heavy and energy sapping, but everyday of drier and warmer weather the greater the chance of a dust bowl! I've noted that Ransoms are beginning to show shoots along the old railway.