On Monday morning, while I was waiting at the bus stop, I noticed a flurry of feathers drifting through the air on the opposite side of the road. A few birds, mostly starlings and sparrows, were gathering them one by one, very diligently. The owner was, unfortunately, deceased. A wood pigeon, I assume (I saw another nearby, collecting twigs and swooping dangerously low over the street). Yes, that's it. Life is dangerous.
On Wednesday, we came back from town to our village. I slept for about ten hours, just couldn't help myself.
Thursday and Friday were a bit busier at work – nothing major, but compared to the previous two weeks, I was very efficient. April claim they call it. Almost know what I'm doing.
Since my last post, only good things have happened to us, but the same can't be said for our neighbours. One of them died on Tuesday – a good woman who loved our Richard, and who, unfortunately, also loved to smoke, even with her heart issues. And the cat I was minding in February is at the end of her life. She might be put down tomorrow.
Below, Saturday's very unusual supper of mine, a pizza from Tony's; Sunday's meeting with a friend; a glimpse from Tuesday evening's walk with the Dog; a cute, knitted arrow pointing the way to my husband's workplace and a dead bumblebee found during the same Thursday walk at the outskirts of Droichead Átha.
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