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This afternoon, Jackie drove us around the forest.
On the outskirts of Brockenhurst a troop of cattle exercised their right to hold up the traffic.
Over Lymington River
a swing has been suspended from a tree bearing
a lengthy lichen-laden limb kept out of the water by a complicated system of rigging.
A pool is filling up on the other side of the road.
Wherever we go we are likely to see a crow perched high enough to explain the term ‘a crow’s nest’.
This one could observe ponies chomping whilst waiting for a bus.
I was just thinking how sleepy one of the animals looked, when it turned and yawned in my direction.
An isolated individual had no competition for the grazing on the other side of the road.
At East Boldre, the sight of the sun behind a tree mirrored in a pool,
encouraged us to return in time to watch the sun drop down below the horizon
and deepen the red, gold, and indigo hues above.
Ponies keeping the grass down here were oblivious of the beauty above.
This evening we dined on fishcakes, one Thai, and one parsley and cheese, served on a bed of onions, peppers, tomato, and garlic; with runner beans, carrots, and cauliflower. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I finished the Malbec.