Sunday, 13 October 2019


                                                                                         Shepherd Boy and Flute

Dear Reader,

There was an Extinction Rebellion meeting in our village hall last week and we went. Two Oxford dons seemed to be running it and they both had an hour to speak and show us slides. The pictures of the fires, floods and famine all over the world were horrific and and their gloomy foreboding of things to come was very disturbing.  But what we were not told was what each one of us could do, in a small way, to improve things.  Extinction Rebellion seems to be causing chaos on the streets of London
and many other cities, not just in England but around the world.  Obviously members of the government will take note of these activities and I sincerely hope they do, but perhaps this isn't the right way.  People wanting to get to work and ambulances wanting to get patients to hospital have been impeded and this probably does nothing to further EX's cause.

Climate change is a very serious subject which must be addressed by all the world leaders and come to some agreement about what to do, quickly.

Animal news:  Apparently with all this wet weather  spiders are hurrying into our homes for warmth and comfort.  But not only spiders, rats too like the comfort of your home. So keep the doors shut
or you might have unwelcome visitors.

Nothing on the gulls this week except I read about a poet who loved them.  He wrote poetry for them and apparently they understood every word.  Well there is no accounting for taste.



The goats pick their way up
the steep mountain path
nibbling and bleating, tails wagging
silver bells chiming as they stop
to graze, skip and jump upwards.

White mignonettes, freesias, lavender bushes
grow in abundance along the well-worn track,
and small taranaki flowers nestle
in the undergrowth.
Overhead a black kite cries
circles and swoops
and the pungent smell of goats
fills the warm lavender air.

I see the shepherd boy
swarthy, brown and handsome
sitting on a stone, playing a flute.
He watches his precious goats
with a sharp and knowing eye.

As I pass I smile. He waves.
I dance a step to his music
and with light heart follow the goats,
on my own journey upwards.


With best wishes, Patricia

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