Venue.

 

The sort of winter weather that could have come straight out of a Disney fairy tale. Blue skies, carpets of white frost and a Cecil B DeMille sunrise. Sophie is born for weather like this - which explains why she ( and her human companion ) can be found out and about at six thirty on a Sunday morning.

Yesterday, a large bus deposited sixty or so pensioners in the village. The inhabitants of an old folks home in Toulouse. They had a picnic on the village green and spent the afternoon wandering backwards and forwards along the lane. All of them were kitted out in identical bright red windcheaters - a practical touch in case any decided to wander off. Sophie , standing on her hind legs at the gate, greeted each and every passer by 'enthusiastically'. The visitors were just as happy to stand and say hello to her. This is the third or fourth time we've seen a group like this arrive in the village. Town dwellers keen to get out into the fresh air and enjoy simple pleasures after a long spell in lockdown. The fact the village hall has easily accessible public lavatories may also be a factor in why we're becoming a venue for day trippers.

This morning something rustling in the frost attracts my companions attention. Everything stops while this is explored.

Further up the hill an enticing scent gets the full 360 turn treatment.

Finally, a small pile of leaves at the road side has to be carefully studied. This is a job that cannot be hurried.

So starts a quiet Sunday with a Polish Lowland Sheepdog  in deepest, deepest France profonde .

Remarkable :https://eos.org/articles/the-surprising-reach-of-tongas-giant-atmospheric-waves