There can be no slowing down for heartache.
Where would Britain have been in WW2, if that had been allowed?
Would I have had more emotional fibre, if I had been alive then?
Long ago, I managed to carry on in face of adversity. We can all rally when we must.
Therefore, last Monday we went to Clifton Park so I could get two knuckles injected.
The procedure, delayed over several weeks, seemed of such small importance, but it was scheduled, so.
Near the river, geese were helping to clear newly harvested fields.
The fountains were in operation at a nearby farm, giving definition to a standard shot.
Is it, in fact a farm?
We’ve never seen a sign and on Mapquest it’s an unidentified blank.
It serves as a prop for seasonal photography.
Especially when they turn the fountains on.
Also anonymous, this can hardly pretend not to be a farm.
Why are they so secretive?
Along the access road, a solitary person was making a trek to the mailbox.
A long way to go for a begging letter.
Perhaps anonymous farms get more exciting mail than us. (Everybody gets more exciting mail than us.)
One of my favourite trees seems to devour the Odd Duck Farm.
A good name for any farm I might own.
Sadly, I cannot identify it, but it was determinedly holding on to its foliage.
You think the world becomes bland at the end of the year, until you examine a photograph.
At the T, we turned onto River Road
Here, there used to be Llamas. But they too disappeared this year.
The ubiquitous Hudson.
Another photograph required.
When I mention animals going missing, I am referring to our squirrels that vanished seemingly overnight back around June.
Little Red, Ghost, Randy etal.
The squirrels who graced our bit of land used to go off, periodically, for a time.
I always said they were at a retreat or a union meeting.
Two or three days later, they came roaring back with their demands.
This year, they have stayed gone.
If it was one or two, you’d sigh “oh dear”, but the whole flippin’ lot?
All at once?
Gimpy Crow has vanished too, although his brethren are always about.
Gimpy was doing well, despite his gimp, but in his case we tend to fear the worst.
Recently. we’ve noticed a new class of squirrels.
“Class”, as in this year’s class.
They have arrived cautiously, as if testing the waters.
Peanuts more like.
It has been confusing, because with all the rain they have tended to be wet, which makes for a whole different appearance.
A couple of times, we almost thought Ghost was back, but then we got a better look and it’s not been him.
Son, or daughter of, perhaps.
But not Ghost.
Dear Little Red also among the missing, although some weeks ago we spotted one of Red’s variety darting about under one of our fir trees and sometimes we see them along the road down by the pond.
Because they all seemed to vanish at once, I have this mad vision of them all riding around in an appropriated school bus, somewhere on an extended school-trip.
They would be a very rowdy sort of group having frequent fisticuffs and lots of food fights:
“That’s mine, geroff!”
“No way! Hey! Give it back!”
etc, etc, etc
This brings us to the Pain Clinic and it’s time I attended to the needs of whoever shows up.
Nibbs has been by twice already. Whatever his ailment, it never curbed his appetite and he appears to have recovered from whatever emotional angst was bothering him weeks ago.
The young lad wants to come indoors again, but we must wait until we’re sure it’s safe.