There is something kind of sad about this lone glove. Even worse than that lost sock in the washing machine that miraculously appears week in and week out no matter how many pairs of socks you count into the damn machine. What has happened to its mate, why is it lying on the road, flattened and forlorn?
Good God I should get out more when I’m thinking like this!
Actually it’s on the lane because the workmen are in the field next door. They are ripping hell out of the hedgerows and digging up the soil. What was a cow pasture is now to be stables etc for some woman who professes to want a nice home for her horses. Well more like a nice bit of planning permission for her own home in a few years time.
The open view will disappear and be replaced by tacky white electric fencing (so much cheaper than post, rail and wire) and Idgy’s hunting ground for old pottery and her hedge house have now vanished into a pile of wasted wood and muddy rubble.
We both stood watching the diggers yesterday in silence. We had our own thoughts, our own feelings. Separated by so many years as we are our feelings were of different things, different losses. But as the rain came down and we watched the diggers ripping up the field we both just looked at each other and sighed. No words were needed, the sighs said it all.