wag the finger

the finger wags

Back from Suffolk. A quiet weekend it was. I admired my mother's new garden. I cooked. Played the drums a lot (ok not so quiet) and went for a nice long walk, managing to get lost in the gloaming in a territory i know so well. I ran for abit, across some meadows, and came to stop under an oak tree. My feet were soaking, but it was quite warm. Owls hooted, and cows made ghastly moans and coughs a few fields away. A vixen screamed. I felt rather at peace, although a little lonely.