I guess all writers have a running blog in their heads as they go about seeming relatively normal... ( not?). A kind of internal commentary on the world which, if the mutterings get too loud, can attract a few funny looks!
I certainly do have that internal film running in real time. It's one of the tools of the trade.
But blogging, out there! in a public space, that feels very different and quite intimidating. So here goes, plunge into the ice-cold waters and begin.
From the window of my study, a windowbox full of deep blue petunias and amber pansies, a stone wall with low-flying swallows and martins, then a low fell ( that's Cumbrian for a mountain or a big hill), below patchworked with fields, new-shaven and gold, after the first hay harvest, sheep, trees, hillops of cloud and the constant squealing of the innumerable swallows and house martins who are nesting in our old stone barn and under the eaves of our old house.
Our granchildren are visiting from Australia, staying across the valley with our daughter and son-in-law, and they have just gone for a big walk, so relative peace has descended while I struggle with this new experience of The Blog.
My two black labradors, Red Rose and Blue Poppy, are sitting outside the door barking at any poor walker who has the temerity to walk past on the road( which they think belongs to them!)
Sunshine and showers, ravens crarking, no traffic for now, time to stop and have lunch.
