Foxes

Frances, Stewart and Phoebe live a mile away from us in a rented terraced house. They have a small garden with a wall at the back. Beyond that there is a verdant slope that plunges down to the car park of the local "Home Bargains" store.  I suspect that there was a stone quarry there at some time in the past.

Recently, they spotted a fox cub in their garden and suspected it may have come from the slice of green wilderness just over the wall. Sure enough, a few minutes later, they watched a a vixen leap over the wall to retrieve her inquisitive cub.

Fast forward five days and Stewart happened to be beside the garden wall with his i-phone in hand. He snapped this amazing picture of the vixen with lunch in her mouth.  It's hard to tell what it is. Stewart and Frances think that it is an adult rat but I am not so sure.

On another occasion Stewart leaned over the wall and captured the following image of a young fox cub.
Who needs to go on an African safari or seek out penguins in Antarctica when you can watch the activities of urban foxes here in Merry Olde England? Their widespread presence in our cities is really a phenomenon of the past fifty years. Before that they were mainly country dwellers - so wary and so cunning that you hardly ever saw them.


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YooHoo

 


There is something really satisfying when big jobs are completed at home.
After a sleep , I’ve  prepared the cottage for the workman tomorrow.jobs which included clearing the bathroom and filling the log store so that the workman can park his van in the cleared driveway. 
It’s overcast but warm so the lane has been busy which has been nice as it’s refreshing to see people .
Affable Despot Jason and his girls stopped to chat and Eve ( above) grabbed the opportunity to cuddle Mary.
And as I watered the flower beds Pippa from the Rectory was having a long conversation with Sailor John from next door. 

Mrs Trellis walked past too and waved calling “ You hooo” like old ladies often do
She was eating an ice cream 


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Mend

 The humidifier

As my only sound

I’m basking 

In the physical quiet

Hoping my mind

Receives the memo

Break my soul

So I can mend

And start all over

Back at square one



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Monday

 Today 

Reminder

Progress isn’t always linear

It comes as it wishes

Not on my timetable



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Bluebells

 


I’ve always loved Bluebells.
This is the best time of year for them.
That and wild garlic which now fills the senses with smells of France and Italy as it carpets the woodlands around Trelawnyd in white
Those woodlands now fly the colours of Greece and Argentina or even Finland depending on the intensity of the bluebell’s blue.
My garden bluebells are robust and dark. I stole a few bulbs from Bodnant Gardens over a decade ago and the tiny plants have repaid me by filling the cottage borders in early May 

I have a day off before the bathroom man arrives. 
So after a sleep , I will clear the decks ready
But will also cut a few bluebells for the front room. 
In a tiny Art Deco vase and against the gentle yellow paintwork , the flowers see, at their best


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