Grouchy as an unwalked dog this morning. In the kitchen, Dog herself is stood, mournfully, by a slop of vomit. Diagnosis: unsettled. We need to a) clean the floor and b) reset our spirits.
A walk around the block is proposed.
The block is arable fields, the walking surface single track, just big enough for one moderately sized tractor, which we don’t meet, but we do find the remains of a less lucky squirrel.
I had planned a break from this house move daily update; a return to sharing my old diaries, I determined, would bring more fun to writer and readers. Which didn’t happen today as the laptop and the journals were in different houses.
And my headspace remains a 3D jigsaw puzzle of kitchen implements; of hats, of books, of towels, brewing buckets, root vegetables, houseplants; or it might be some kind of stacking game, like Jenga, like Buckaroo, but mostly there’s more things than places and not space in the poor swirly head to think of anything else that might be happening, especially not in the small time slot available to write and post.
But while I walk, sceptres of ripening grass reach twice my height in the hedgerows, the fields swell fat crops, the hills roll down to a river valley, flat squirrel has come to his last rest, wild flowers thrive and weave.
This is how transition happens, in oscillations.