Where the Deer Rest

  
My new friends from up the lane, Sue and David, rang me this morning to ask if I'd seen the large herd of deer that had sauntered along the edge of the field behind me earlier. They were concerned that I might have started planting shrubs and trees, and created a feeding station for the herd. We couldn't see them when we looked, and I reassured my friends that there was nothing for them to eat yet. But there will be soon, and so we discussed ways of keeping them out should they try to add some tasty changes to their food supply. A 6ft-high sheep fence should work, though I find the idea oppressive. I want to enjoy the views and the wildlife without creating such an obvious visual barrier. But I was assured that, after a short while, you tend not to see this kind of fencing with its large holes. I'll discuss it with 'Did' tomorrow, my new fount of all rural lore.

I strolled back from their house in hot sunshine and immediately spotted the deer. They were standing, sitting and lying in front of a copse of trees just over the field. As the day got hotter they sank lower into the ground, the occasional flick of an ear or tail, or a brief flash of white, betraying their presence. On and off throughout the day I checked and they were still there. Sun worshippers, facing south.

I've spent the day shovelling shit. No, literally. My back garden housed three miniature donkeys until a few months ago, and though the main pile of manure was removed before I came here, a staggering amount had collected along the hedgerow where the stable used to be. I moved nine loaded barrowfuls to my bonfire area, my aching back proof of this feat. Physical work like this is so enjoyable, but while I'm completely absorbed in what I'm doing I find I'm engaged in constant conversation in my head. I don't plan to, but I discuss everything I do with somebody else. Each time I catch myself and laugh, and then I'm off again. "I'm just going to do a few more loads and then I'll stop and have a rest. I'll print off the crossword and sit down with a cup of tea. I know you think  I should probably keep going, but I'm not going to! I can do as I please! God it's hot. Shall I sit in the summerhouse or outside in the sun? I suppose inside is best. And I'm going to have a nice fat Danish pastry with my tea. So what if it spoils my appetite?I don't care! I can have my supper late. I shall please myself!" And on and on, endlessly, mindlessly. Do other people do this I wonder? Perhaps I'll lose the ability to verbalise and eventually just look at my companions, eyebrows twitching, face animated, having my half of the conversation in my head.
 

Evening in the lane

The sun's going down now. A few hares are lolloping around in the field and the house is abuzz with flies and wasps. The deer have crept away, melting into the trees. All is well.