This morning Jackie drove me for a short trip into the forest.
Bovines basked among the browning bracken of Bull Hill.
One couple sat talking on the gravel of Tanners Lane beach;
another walked their dogs across it.
With the Isle of Wight and The Needles on the horizon, gentle waters gathered in the regular rock pools;
rippled the twinkling surface of the Solent, lapped the reflecting breakwaters, and darkened their closest pebbles, while
at a higher level charcoal encircled by larger stones remained as evidence of an attempt at a fire, perhaps laid for alfresco cooking the night before.
This white butterfly flitted along the lane until conveniently coming to rest among stones and autumn leaves. Is it a Green Veined White?
This afternoon Jackie drove Flo and Dillon to Lymington Registry Office to give Ellie’s birth its official status.
We dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Monte Plogar.