Time with my daughter is almost always perfection. We walked and she read a letter that she had written many years ago. It was beautifully hauntingly articulate - the thoughts so well expressed that my mind reels when imagining this 12 year old child with such command of the English language. Hilary, you should have been a writer. You are, in so many ways. I should have been listening then. I am, now.
We walked far enough to see them - the beauties, the ones that make me inhale sharply -
A pair of mules - Jan and Jay. Lovingly cared for by an old man whose name I won't reveal.
What I CAN say is that his lifelong love of horses is immediately apparent. It seems that whatever he touches, blooms. We spent quite a long time with him today - and only grazed the surface. (Hilary also loves the mules and the feeling seems returned).
He has vineyards and fig trees and chestnuts in the freezer. There are wooden kegs in the basement and his knowledge of viniculture is staggering. He has the most generous heart imaginable. I came home with all manner of home grown and gathered seeds.
This is Jan. Look at those eyelashes. I'm in love.