Poetry and water

The pilgrims are drifting back. We really haven't seen many in the two and a half years since the pandemic struck. Last night a young man in his mid-twenties stops at  the near gate. He's wearing one of those Australian hats with corks hanging from the brim. Sophie emits the PON howl to alert me to the fact that something untoward is happening. I wander over to see him.  ' Is your water chlorinated ?' he asks. It takes me a second or two to translate this unusual conversation opener. He passes a small plastic bottle through the bars and asks me to fill it. He then takes three sips and announces that it's chlorine free before passing an empty litre bottle and asking me to fill that. All the while Sophie maintains an unhelpful full on alarm bark.

The man thanks me and is last seen wandering slowly past the war memorial as the sun was setting. Where will he sleep. Is he walking at night to avoid the heat during the day ? Maybe he has a car ?

The poetry snippets that were posted around the village last year have returned. A selection of haikus can be found among the posters on the village notice board. The German billionaires wife has started up her yoga retreat again so the haikus may have something to do with that.

Back at home Sophie watches me water the garden and air the house. She can soon be found in that unusual dog place half way between wakefulness and sleep.

When she tires of that the family diva wanders indoors for a professional nap. She walks with an air of purpose that makes it abundantly clear a girls work in NEVER done.