It’s a small world

We’re getting used to our new small universe. This morning James was painting the shed and I was drawing a picture of primroses. I have been doing quite a bit of drawing lately with my watercolour pencils, and what I lack in talent I make up for in my own enjoyment - I find the process both absorbing and relaxing.
For lunch I decided to make home made potato scones using leftover mash from last night. The results were absolutely delicious if I say so myself. And then when our young people returned to their work and study, and James went back to painting the shed, I decided to go for my daily walk. As I have mentioned before, James goes for a long walk at 6.30 a.m. every morning so I usually either go with Davie or by myself. Davie was very busy in his room soldering tiny solar panels together - I have no idea why - so I left him to it and set off towards the park. On the way, having finished the fascinating true crime podcast West Cork, I listened to Where the Crawdads Sing, which has been recommended to me by several people. I am liking it so far. I didn’t actually go into the park but instead skirted past it to Dechmont and walked on a path through the deserted firing range and found myself at the foot of Dechmont Hill. I decided to scale its modest heights and trudged up through a steep field, and then found myself climbing up a short but vertiginous slope to the summit. I was practically on hands and knees for the last bit, clinging to tussocks of grass, and was concerned about slipping and rolling back down the hill. However I quickly emerged onto the level summit with its flagpole and trig point and sat down to enjoy the view before making a leisurely descent through the golf course to home and dinner. I noticed quite a few people walking their dogs on the golf course; not just around the edges like my respectful route, but straight across the fairways and greens. I can’t imagine that being permitted in normal circumstances, but then our current circumstances are anything but normal.