Busy Boy.

I did a 2½ mile round trip walk this morning to take the little pony at the end of Mill Lane her apple and carrot. She was a bit unsteady on her feet, poor thing, and I wonder whether she’s going to be around much longer. Maybe the heat was just getting to her.

So then it was more painting, giving my bathroom its occasional mighty clean up, watering the garden, doing the week’s ironing, cooking dinner, vacuuming, tending to the bird feed and water bowls… By twenty to ten I was whacked and gave up for the day.

I have to admit that being busy does tend to keep the depressions at bay, but it also stops you ruminating on the important things in life (such as whether there is anything intrinsically important about life itself, whether moths are really fairies in disguise, whether humanity proceeds in yuga-style cycles, and whether true reality lies somewhere over the rainbow.)

And now I’m tired, but sleeping might prove a little difficult tonight. A cloud cover has formed, you see, which means that the heat of the day will be trapped and the night will be uncomfortably warm. Looks like I might have to take my sweater off when I go to bed.

*  *  *

But before I do, I intend to read some more of Klara and the Sun. So far it’s unspectacular. The writing style – which is of substantial importance to me – is simple and prosaic; there’s nothing rich or lyrical about it. But the plot and characters are engaging and that makes a comfortable change from the stuff I usually read.