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Wednesday, 7 September 2011

Of Dozey Does and Mountains of Muck

Just back from my morning walk with Dusty. Same route most mornings. Down the path to the ‘fort’, though in the morning I am less inclined to linger while Dusty roots out rabbits, so I firmly bypass the overgrown track that leads to it. No, we keep on the wider path and the smell of a small mountain of manure soon greets us. Not sure why the farmer takes time to build this mountain of muck and then dismantle it just a few months later. Maybe he doesn’t like his farmyard smelling like, well, a farmyard.
Round the corner to the left. My favourite part of this walk in the morning because now we are facing east, and you never know what the sky will look like. Often it is breath-taking, shot with streaks of vibrant hues, but this morning it was a more subdued palette of shades of grey. It still draws my gaze and my gratitude to God for such a sight.
Sometimes we startle a dozey doe who has overslept in the reeds. She’ll unfurl impossibly fragile legs and spring through the heather towards safety. Dusty looks at me, remembering her fleet-footed youth, and without thinking, I find I am flexing my hand to check the stiffness today. We understand each other, and sigh.
Round the next corner and because it is September, my eye wanders to the wild bramble bushes. Not yet ready, but soon.
Just before we rejoin the road, we pass the two bulls, lying together in companionable ease, chewing their cuds while they share a thoughtful moment.
You just don’t see that when you’re walking to El Dorado Park from Mom’s house.

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