Empty Dancecard

This morning I have been reflecting on my agenda, my diary, my dancecard.

There are only two appointments and both of these are medical, one in June and one in July.

That is the some total of the entries in the diary.

Apart from that we have to do some shoppping and take the full trailer up to the tip. No real time constraints or urgency.

It is unlikely that we will speak with another human being face to face other than the checkout people and those making deliveries before June.

I am in internet based telecommuniction with only one other being, in a land far away.

Which means I can take pictures  of the fauna.

This is one of our two kitchen-window lizards.

They get out their Ambre Solaire and bask each morning.

They are back now and will be here for the next few months.

So far we have had visiting:

A fox

A Reynard Charbonnier (fox with a blackish back)

Four lizards

3 slow worms

1 salamander

A grass snake (yesterday)

A coleuvre viperine, a swimming grass snake

3 deer

One coypu

Two otters

~5 ducks

A moorhen

One heron {a frequent visitor in winter}

A kingfisher { he is  a stunner }

Some spectacular moths and butterflies

Four trout

Loads of dragon flies

Multiple toads and frogs

A bunny rabbit

Loads of voles

A water vole

One rat

Plenty of mice

A red squirrel

A mink

We have a resident pair of magpies

And many other birds

We can hear owls and a rooster

The swallows who dive bomb the pond for a drink on the wing…amazing..they are back from Africa now..

Two random stray dogs

A scruffy cat

Oh and moles, lots of moles.

I am not quite at the stage of talking to them yet….


With the exaggerated care

Of the weary

Placing the used up

Snakeskin of the year

On the bonfire of his vanity

He stepped back.


He watched the fickle,

Trickle of his dreams,

Rise insubstantive and insubstantial

On the fluttering moth wings of hope

And with his heart

He blew a farewell kiss.


In the dark winter night

The orange red flame

Consumed the essence

Nurtured and garnered

In all his deeds.


On the field of Gold,

The banners lay

And the mandolins

Sung of battles won

And of battles lost.


From the desert swell

He carried that cup

And as he held it high

He spilled that last

Vital drop.


In the silent

Crystal night,

The echo of his

Words rang out

Their haunting melancholy ring

Into the absent wood.


Feeling now that aching

Arching no-thing

Of his soul

He stroked the egg shell cavern

 Of his ping pong



And in the once resplendent

Halls of his dream

He found the comforting

Emptiness of

Being fully spent.


And now

He reached down

To find that fragile

Seed of the new.


And to plant it

Once more upon the


Landscape of his dream.