Saturday, January 21, 2017
The little things.
The drooling has gone. So has the lopsidedness. So too the swellings in his throat and neck that alarmed the specialist. 'The Font' continues to express hope about Bobs right eye.
The bakers wife suggests I buy a blue and pink amaretto cake. We opt instead for two coffee eclairs. Bob gets slivers of croissant. His tail does its manic metronome routine.
Hope takes many forms. A family diva walking lost in the moment, head down in the flower borders, is one of them.
Three quarters of the way through January and there are still rose hips in the hedge rows. Despite this weeks cold weather it must rank as one of the mildest winters on record. In the garden outside The Rickety Old Farmhouse red and green woodpeckers - at least eight of them - busy at work on the old oak trees.
A record of those little Saturday morning things that are overshadowed by those 'big' things. Whether its a blinking eye or a wet nose in the flowerbeds mans best hope rests in the little things. They act as a gentle reminder to preserve and defend what's important.