The likelihood of snow having passed, maybe, I am ready for the world to turn a nice shade of green.
The above was 24th April 2019, so maybe it’s too soon,
Though peering closely at that slope, as I just was, there is a hint of life returning…
…all in good time, I guess.
Feeling less than inspired this morning, I took a ride to Greenwich when Grant went for some shopping.
Only to sit in the parking lot taking out-of-focus, shaky photographs.
The telephoto informed me that trees are in bud.
If yesterday was “jaundiced”, today seems bluish.
Not myself, just my photographs.
There may be some blue language if my photo editor doesn’t start to behave.
So much for “upgrades”.
Photo editing is haywire and now, if I leave the PC for a moment, when I return I have to sign back in.
Fortunately I guessed the right password because I have no idea at what stage I became “password protected”.
It’s hardly necessary in my own living room.
Oh well. Mustn’t complain!
Speaking of which, looking for a topic, I dipped into some old work notes that I kept for a giggle.
Hah! How did I ever survive? Why-ever did I take it all so seriously? There is nothing in those notes that I could ever even explain to a sane person!
Zoomer was scratching for breakfast this morning when he spied trouble and fled for cover in a bush:
But Toby just said “tidy up your carpet” and moved on.
When I do get around to writing, I am often summoned away by a cry of “oh you must come and see this!”
Usually I go, of course.
Yesterday it was to see the tiniest of our groundhogs, up on the porch, searching desperately for a morsel.
“Perhaps if I ring the bell?”
“Or stare at them pathetically?”
(I just missed the perfect shot as she turned away)
“Nothing up there either?”
Doesn’t she look as if she’s wearing a tutu?
Grant hacked up some carrots and shot outside.
She fled, but not for long.
“Ooh, thank you!”
This particular groundhog has a major scar on her back as you can see in this picture.
She is very tiny, probably one of last summer’s late babies.
We have been able to distinguish two others so far.
A much larger dude with a nose scar…
…and another petite, with no scar.
It’s no wonder they have scars.
This afternoon I heard an indignant scream and saw the plants beneath my window vibrating.
The Dude was chasing Petite off.
“My carrots!” he yelled and Petite scurried off down the driveway as fast as her pins would carry her.
(They can move quite fast, in fact.)
One thing is for sure, we’re going to be chopping carrots for the foreseeable future.