FRIDAY, AUGUST 16
Not much happened but the now-usual. Dogs, dogs, dogs. It was pissing rain in the morning, and I waited to walk the dogs until there was a small break. Tinkerbell made it a third of the way and then waited in the bushes for our return. Sweet Lucky didn’t come along, or so I thought, until who should appear on the hill but that smiling dog. All the others ran to greet her.
The clouds were so low and thick, I couldn’t see the sea. The birds on the hills by the cemetery were dots in the mist. The changes here…the colors of the sea, the patterns of the water, the movement of clouds, the softness and fury of rain, are magical, and when it is quiet I can hear the sound of wind that isn’t there, the ancient whistle carried by the ghosts.
We walked the five to Fiona’s, went to Callanetics (just the two of us again!) then home to cook. I made a vegetable quinoa soup; Chloe made a dahl and baked the squash. We fixed a salad from the garden lettuce and tomatoes. Cella, the girl here to study horse culture, joined us for dinner.
