About an hour ago,they were sniffing every plant,every tree,and their heads were engaged at every junction.Now,they sleep,as if they’ve done their bit,satisfied that everything is good in their world.As they sleep,I spied their nemesis ,the feline Mary in all her glory.Mary has a look of intent as she surveys her patch.She isn’t put off by her own species let aline ,Dogs.
This mis afternoon idyll that is our Dorset town,which once,30 years ago,was just a large village,silently waits for the majority of its residents to return from their toil.As joggers and cyclist compete for their bit of Tarmac,I wonder where this place will be in 10 years time.
Personally,I observe an aging population in many ways,but a fair smattering of young and middle aged folk and ,to me at least,the balance doesn’t seem too bad.It seems funny when I viewed a gathering of senior citizens on a street content just now ,wondering how a similar number of teenagers in the same vicinity it might be viewed.
We all suffer from that propensity to judge adversely those of a younger generation,when we too were young once,trying to find our feet in a world that we didn’t quite understand.
Maybe Mary has it right:That self confident feline is queen of all she surveys,and totally oblivious to the other inhabitant.As my dogs go
To sleep after strutting their stuff not an hour ago,they have no idea that the world ,our world here in our town in Dorset has moved on and will move on again in another hour.
Maybe afternoon tea,that wonderful a British institution is being served somewhere in the town as I speak,and maybe the infusion of the oils of bergamot to flavour the Earl Grey is cementing us to the English countryside that we are so fortunate to be apart of.
Why,the writing of the last paragraph has prompted me to indulge in the Rosey leaf with my preference being the delicate flavours of the “Afternoon” blend .As I tip my hat to Mary,and look rather puzzling at the sheer unashamed indolence of my dogs,I bid you a very good afternoon.