Alluring

Six new born calves in the field at the crossroads. A group of aunts lie, protectively, in front. The tired mothers in a small circle behind. At this age the calves barely visible in the long grass. A symphony of blackbird song washes over them. 

By the pond a large grey heron. It takes wing as we amble into sight.  Sophie watches it go. Bob is too busy sniffing something alluring in the drainage ditch to notice.

Out on the ridge , where the plane trees peter out and the wind whips up from the valley, Sophie does a little dance.  Whatever it is she's tiptoeing around is invisible to me.

We sit on the storm drain and mull over the worlds woes. Iran, N Korea, Pompeo's trip to Sochi, Jared's 'Peace Plan' , Alfred E Neuman and China's retaliatory tariffs. Bob is of the opinion that things that look as if they're easy to fix rarely are. We are about to move on to the probability of sequestration when the old farmer in his metallic green Toyota Land Cruiser drives by.  The ferocious Westie stands in the back window and howls.That's a sure sign that it's time to head home.

At the bakers an array of uninspiring cakes. The type that could be found anywhere. The baker and his wife are still coming to terms with their latest arrival.

Around The Rickety Old Farmhouse the roses are blooming - and how . 'The Font' must cut sixty or seventy blooms a day but dead heading still takes half an hour. The cooler temperatures and frequent rain of this unusual year  clearly to their liking.

So starts a Sunday morning with sheepdogs in a little French village where nothing ever happens.