Friday, 20 September 2013
Thoughts from a Walk with Mr Mole
Thoughts from Yet Another Country Walk: this series will end soon, by popular despondency, but today we encompassed what I am sure must have been the sublime and the ridiculous, although I hesitate to say which was which, and all were beautiful. There were butterflies in abundance, including one tiny white one, fretting from one barleycorn to another, obviously frustrated by the absence of flowers. In Brasil they call them bobbolettas, one of the very few words I learned. And later, striding manfully forth along the footpath, I was about to squish a molehill, and then noticed it was still moving. I stopped, and was about to walk on, thinking surely the mole has detected my clumperous sandals and is biding his wormy time, but no, it moved again. And several more agains. Obviously, it wasn't the mole's intention to come out into the daylight, just to shift earth from his worm-collecting tunnels, but I thought, what I wonderful thing to see. Honest unnoticed toil, which is so rarely properly rewarded in our lands. And then I thought how much my late father hated moles on his lawn, and to the joy of wonder was added laughter. I could become very fond of the countryside.