2. مساء

انا سعيدة لان ساذهب الى مظاهرة الاحد 

مساء مشيت مع ابني بجانب الحقل

انا احب  النظر الى اشجار  

اليوم ساعدت ام زوجي مع بنكها

Village road

I drove really slowly behind a tractor and trailer laden with huge straw bales. We ambled along with bits of yellow straw flying around, particularly as the tall wobbly load brushed past trees. Then we were slowed down even more: there was a horse and rider ambling along! I tried to look at the expressions on the faces of the drivers coming past the other way. Surely they'd be smiling in a sympathetic way.

It was a lovely moment. That phrase 'trailing clouds of glory' came to mind as that was exactly what was happening. No one hooted or got cross.

Silent flames and smoke - The people are ok

I am shocked by how there was no sound as the house on the corner went up in flames. I saw the plumes of white smoke and little tiny firework sounds. Even when the fire engines arrived they didn't have their sirens on. The head fireman must have been using a loud hailer to give instructions, but that was muted somehow. The engines had their motors running, but again this was just a low noise. The flames themselves went right up from the whole roof. They were not the yellow of a candle flame, but the orange, big colour of sheets of flame.

The people were ok. That was the 2nd piece of information each time we exchanged the news, first we'd explain which house it was that was on fire, then ask "What about the people?"

Without a fire brigade it would have spread from house to house downwind. There were lumps of thatch flying over the other houses, carried by the wind. There was a Great Fire in this village in Charles II's time, so our village has form.

It is totally beyond my understanding or imagination to take in the concept of being without a home, or rather with a burnt out one. It is shocking to see how an event deeply affects one household, but the rest of us are left with intact ones. How unequal can life be? I suppose other sudden events strike less visibly, so the differences between our households are less visible, so less known about.

Even now there is a smoky smell near the house, but it is simply the smell of an everyday bonfire. It doesn't smell alarming, not plasticky or frightening. I find that very disturbing. I remember that there was a terrible smell in the Victoria Line platforms at King's Cross underground station in London after that escalator fire all those years ago. It seemed right that it was a different smell, thinking back. It matched the terrible events there.

Within 300 yards

I like to stand by the gate and see the cattle walk over to be with me. They sniff the smells I make as a human and I sniff the smells they make as cattle. They came right over and jostled each other. I wonder why they choose to come over. We don't have much in common.
Our nearest corn field. I have an irrational wish to walk into the rows and get lost. Clearly not a good idea, even if I could find my way out by listening for the hourly church bells or looking at the sun. The plants are taller than me and the field is enormous.
Here is the top of the female part of the plant, turning into a corn cob. The red strands are called silk and are a guide to how ripe the corn is. Harvest is once they dry out.
We walked down our drive and see more of these survivors from when the wall fell down and all the old planting was dug up to make new foundations.
Arty photo of 3 sweet, then tart, blackberries. I half crushed them in my hand and got covered in "blood"...simple pleasures!
Our rowan berries. Very glossy and sturdy looking. That tree never grows any taller, just continues from year to year in that corner by the garage. A truly content tree, in the right place and at the right time. All is well in its world.

The year is turning

I went on a walk round the village after dark this evening. It was cool enough to wear a zipped up jacket. The air smelt of cut grass and had a tiny nip in it. I was buzzed by a bat. I don't hear that well, but it was remarkably still and silent, no cars, no sirens, no shouts, no-one drumming, no sheep or cattle noises at all.