Thursday, 18 April 2013


 It was wet. After I trasped home bedraggled, I stripped off and hugged the stove trying to get warm. Steam rose all around me and the cat - Her Highness Henrietta Cartier Bresson - gave me the look. I can't blame her to be honest. I'd been down to the croft on a dampish morn to find The Crofter and his dad down the croft playing with the lambs. I went there to take a snap or two, then the rain and wind came. The sheeps were not too happy I can tell you - but happier than the Crofter.

There was rain-drops all over the lens distorting the image somewhat. The sheeps gave me a quizzical look while I pointed this thing at them.

The Crofter and his dad were tryiing to make the little sheeps housey all cosy and wind-free to help the little sheep-lettes from getting over cold. One tiny black sheep-lettes was shivering till Dad Crofter wiped it dry with the straw and put it with its mother to bond.

I might show you that snap in the morn.

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