Sophie's hair this morning is a gravity defying thing of wonder. I'd put it down to the dry wind that's started to blow but she's not been outside yet.
The Old Farmer has the tractor out again. His old army buddy has let him borrow a contraption that sucks up the grass cuttings and fallen leaves. Considerable effort is being expended on fitting it to the back of the lawn tractor. From the contraptions age and condition I'd put money on the fact that it won't work.
As we pass the village pond a moorhen scoots across the surface . It rushes into the safety of the shrubbery clucking as it goes.
Five other moorhens take a more leisurely path to safety. Earlier in the week 'The Font' counted eleven of them sunning themselves on the water lily leaves. Seems this year there are two breeding pairs. One with four chicks and the other with three. The chicks are now getting to be almost full grown. And to think that earlier in the year I was worried that the German billionaire with his foliage cutting might have scared them away. It's turned out to be a vintage year for village moorhens.
So starts a new day in a small village in deepest, deepest France profonde. We've reached that time of year when the plane trees along the lane are about to shed their leaves. Loic will soon be back at work blowing them into piles for Sophie to leap in and redistribute.
A whisky lovers delight :https://www.theglenmorangiehouse.com/
Played on France Musique just before seven this morning and listened to on our way for curly croissant ends :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhJms7A6SAw