Sunday.

6:12 am, Sunday. The rays of the sun filtering through the ripening wheat. The fields glow. Silence, bar a thin pre-dawn bird song chirped by a few ground grubbing blackbirds and larks. As the sun rises above the horizon the noise swells into the full dawn chorus. Jays, starlings, sparrows, finches all singing deafeningly away to an invisible baton. Natures way of saying 'thank you' for a perfect daybreak. The sun warm, the air fresh. Deer and hares scurry into the safety of the shadows as we approach. Bobs ever wagging tail is lit by the sun. His sister is invisible in the long grass that sprouts on the high banks that line the lane. She's living a life of dare devil high adventure. The best day ever. Cicadas make their first appearance. The PONs are intrigued.

Bob sits by my side on the concrete storm drain. He's told, as he is every morning, that this is 'Bobs Country'. Sophie, who is not much given to sitting still, wanders off in search of inedible things to eat. This morning a convoy of melon pickers drives by. Seasonal workers who come from Senegal and Portugal and seem oblivious to the heat. They sit, five in a car, noses pressed against the windows peering at us. Eight vehicles in the convoy. All of them 'old bangers' that have been bought for a song and will be lovingly restored and somehow shipped home. I hold the dogs by their harnesses. The seasonal melon pickers are disdainful of speed limits.

We're back on the village green in time for Bob to chase pigeons and stalk the roosters. High adventure gives way to limitless excitement.

Today Sophie ( who is sporting a summer cut ) will mostly be engaged in generating mischief.

Late May. The time when American college kids head to Scotland and Ireland to discover their 'heritage'. Here's a cheerful group from Michigan who have braved two ferries to make it to Iona and are signing to a group of bemused woolen hatted visitors: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Je42yBVyUU