Ullswater

I called at craggy’s. The streets very quiet.
Picked up Fly’s lead from the back door and called for Fly ... who came ... flying downstairs. We went back to mine and then walked up Heughscar Hill. There was a bit of peekaboo going on here as we vied for the stick, that became a twig, that became a twiglet, that became a toothpick.

Here’s Kathleen Jamie’s poem that she says is about ‘simply being very tired’.

Lochan - Kathleen Jamie

(for Jean Johnstone)

When all this is over I mean
to travel north, by the high

drove roads and cart tracks
probably in June,

with the gentle dog-roses
flourishing beside me. I mean

to find among the thousands
scattered in that land

a certain quiet lochan,
where water lilies rise

like small fat moons,
and tied among the reeds,

underneath a rowan,
a white boat waits.