I set out this morning to the song of a black bird.
I think that if I were a believer I would be a pantheist. I have elusive bits of Wordsworth floating around in my head about "jocund company" and the plants and animals enjoying the air they breathe.
Certainly, this blackbird was enjoying life. And I have seen young lambs and goats cavorting around and having such fun. And a swan clucking contentedly with her little cygnets.
I have never understood why the fundamentalists have such a problem with evolution. There is surely a life force operating here which they can see as the manifestation of God.
I came to a bridge which a man was repairing. I tried to make a joke about his being the guardian of the bridge and asked if I had his permission to pass?
I just work here, he said.
That reminded me of my daughter Rachel's story about trying to busk outside a liquor commission, and being told by a couple of panhandlers to move on because they were working there.
As I thought about the meaning of life, I lost my way. A farmer stopped to give me directions, and we chatted about the weather. We hoped for rain for him but not for me.
After an easy walk, we arrived at the gite. We are having couscous for dinner. Had we arrived yesterday, we would have had couscous. If we arrived tomorrow, we would have couscous. Couscous is served 365 days a year and 366 in a leap year. Don't ask me why.