Walks, weather, and small repairs. Updated when there is something to say.
Three winters of “next year” ended in forty minutes with a tube of rope cement and a flat screwdriver. The door now seals with a satisfying thud and the glass stays clear past the first hour. I regret nothing except the delay.
Twenty-two kilometres, most of it above the tree line. Wind from the north the whole way, which made the exposed section tedious and the descent quick. Blueberries are past their best; lingonberries are not. A dipper was working the stream at the car park.
I have been noting rainfall in a pocket notebook since May. It changes nothing and explains everything: the well, the mud by the gate, the mood of the dog. Recommended.
A personal notebook, kept mostly for myself. No comments, no newsletter, no tracking. If you want to say hello, you probably already know how.
Older entries live in a drawer, on paper. Some will make it here eventually.