Raf set up his tripod and long lens and was able to get some great bird photographs with a remote control while he read. But I mostly vegetated with Hercule Poirot on Netflix and a crochet needle and yarn in my hands or a book on my iPad.
Now the sky is blue, the temperature is above freezing, and perhaps our town will get back to the business of running itself soon. Schools will open, and, I’d be willing to bet, that both students and teachers are anxious to get back to their tasks - at least until the Christmas break.
I am reminded of Robert Frost, who wrote:
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
So as we get back to our usual world,
we are ready to get on with life and to keep