Even though there’s activity all around us, it seems to be happening at the same comfortable and quiet half-pace at which we are working. Even the incessant chirping of the chain saws seems to be mellowed by the blanket of fog that shields everything from view until lunchtime, making an inspection of progress impossible till the afternoon.
The little road beside the port is completely devoid of cars now. It all looks as thought its ready for the big freeze, with the trees lopped to within an inch of their lives in that way that seems to be a bit reminiscent of the way poodles are trimmed, leaving only great blobs on the knuckles to keep the joints warm, from which new branches will no doubt miraculously appear after winter. The hedges are trimmed similarly, standing bare-headed like a group of new recruits after their first visit to the military barber.
The gardening aboard has not been going nearly as well. Our bromeliad while not quite tall enough to be able to see out of the window, can hear what’s going on and no doubt is contemplating its fate. As are we.
1 comment
I was literally just wondering about that lovely bromeliad (and what would happen to it) as I read your previous post..a lovely homely touch for on-board.
By the time you read this comment, you will most likely be on the move and the fate of the plant already decided.
Safe travels..it has been good to follow your journeys through France
(intermittently, on my part).
Post a Comment