Saturday, 1 January 2011

Looking forward.

Happy New Year!

Everything is so still and quiet this morning and I cannot help but hear Bono singing "All is quiet on New Years Day", thus shattering the calm in my head.

The farmyard is a sheet of ice and walking about is tricky. Walking about with armfuls of hay or a bucket of water whilst cats and duck mill beneath your feet....lethal but massive comedy points as long as it is not yourself that takes 'the overly long step'.
The farm track is almost impossible to drive down as the deep ruts are set with ice then smooth, fresh ice set after the thaw and rapid refreeze.
The Land Rover made its own way down the track yesterday and I was merely a passenger - a terrified one at that. It skidded and threatened to take out the fence and everything. The main road, woefully forgotten by the gritter, was not much better.
Eldest son and I had to go into town to replenish the Champion tup mix, cat food and carrots. I needed a decent pencil sharpener and lemonade (in case we had a First Foot). Town was mental and everyone appeared miserable and lots of people coughed right in our faces. Oh honestly.

The farm looks beautiful today, despite the lethal ice. The air is fresh and the sky is clear.

We are not keepers of resolutions on the whole but it would be nice to lose a bit of weight or find more time for leisurely pursuits. Put an end to puffing on cigarettes. A decent night of sleep sneaks into the list as well. That would be fine.

Our work and life are defined by the weather and the seasons. Our clocks are synchronized with the wombs and stomachs of the livestock, tied in to the heartbeat of the earth. She lies still under Her blanket of snow and ice, resting until She awakens slowly in Spring. She enjoyed a long lie last year and was late getting up.
We have to look for signs which indicate the Awakening and we must dance the same rhythm; hopefully a gentle waltz as opposed to an energetic Strip the Willow.

We are Dancers on Ice today, the gracelessness of a hippo in wellies. Actually, thank goodness for the padding courtesy of a mince pie too many and the surreptitious puff of a cigarette after bum and ice make contact.

We will start by taking things slowly.

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