By the time we've made it to the storm drain my shaggy companion is looking rather the worse for wear. This is what ferreting around in the long wet grass in search of owl kill will do to a girl.
Sophie wonders whether we're going to sit on the storm drain and put the world to rights. It's decidedly wet so instead we stand and watch the next squall blow in from the Atlantic.
On the village pond we catch sight of two moorhens making haste into the safety of the shrubs. Sophie thinks of giving chase but, thankfully, doesn't. 'The Font' saw seven of the moorhens yesterday which puts paid to the notion that the young ones have flown the nest in search of a pond of their own.
An Advent surprise. Back to Pennsylvania one last time. A carol, presumably American, that I'd never heard before. The singing pleasant but when the soprano kicks in the whole thing changes. What a voice :https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FyEjH7YDmMM