Signs Of...

The birds wake me around sun-up- and after that I doze. Somewhere in there I had a dream with my father in it. He appeared to be about 30- the age he was at the time I was born- and I was greeting him on his return from somewhere or other or he was greeting me on my return from somewhere or other- and either way we were being reunited after a period of separation. Also present was an ill-defined great aunt (like Bertie Wooster I had several) who was less pleased to see me than he was.

I take a tour of the garden. At this time of year you can see the changes from day to day. Conifers are unclenching little bunches of bright green needles, the blossoms on the cherry- which started off a dazzling white- are gradually turning pink.

There are little white circles all over the top field. They turn out to be made of horse hair- and mark the spots where the smallest horse has been scrawming about on her back to rid herself of her winter coat.



This is the smallest horse. her name is Dot. She's a funny looking object. Her mother was a cob and her father was an appaloosa.