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Saturday we venture briefly into the maddening crowd as we need to go shopping and despite our early morning foray - the streets and shops are already full of hot and frazzled folk. Scowling and glowering they appear to block the sunshine from themselves. We return to our oasis as soon as we can. Where we are drenched by bird song and I can breathe. We garden, water precious seedlings, remove weedlings, take photos, share the glasshouse with a blackbird fledgling.
Our pond is full, a small army of frogs have taken up residence, their indifferent outlook on life fascinates Pepper, who sits and watches their barely discernible activity with confused concentration.
Sunday we escape to the hills. Youngest drives, I knit and Himself knowing where to go to avoid people directs us up to a remote and beautiful area. We see a total of four other wild souls - all celebrating giving humanity the slip.
Moss, unimpressed that she has to wear her long-lead until we are sheep free, pulls ahead, willing us to stretch our pace. It is hot. Himself and Youngest remember a stream from a previous adventure and we stop for lunch. Food tastes better eaten under the sky. Moss soaks herself in the stream countless times.
Our path leads us up and over what feels like seemingly endless hills and down in to a fertile and farmed valley full with sheep and lambs.
We chance on a slender strip of protected ground. Sheltered from grazing sheep it is full of cowslips, primroses, wood anemone, lady's smock and ...
... the tiniest violets in a delicious shade of heart-breaking indigo.
The final pull back up on to the edge of the moor tests my knee (and challenges my mettle) but we get there. I've done it - we've done it.
Monday's stories can wait .... til then, xxxxxx