Jackie writes:
We are back to more storms.
I think Hamish wants to go home,
but the girls love [this weather].
I saw the deer in the field by the house this morning.
I think they are Hart deer . . .
GoogleAI:
A hart is an archaic and poetic term for a male red deer (stag),
especially a mature one over five years old, symbolizing grace,
strength, and nobility in literature and heraldry,
often appearing as the mythical white hart, a rare,
pure white male deer with significant spiritual meaning in legends,
though today it's mostly used in pub names
and cultural references.
I think everywhere is getting this bad weather at the moment
and people on the site that moved in in January from Salisbury
say they love it and summer was spectacular.
I thought when I moved here it would be so quiet with
no road noise from the bypass, no trains or USAF fighters
having Top-Gun-style dog fights above the house,
no noisy people in the cricket club nearby.
And yes, I was right; none of those things.
Just a constant howling wind and the electricity wires singing.
I sometimes think just stop for one hour to give me a break.
But I know it will get better in June.
I've met and talked to several people on site.
Because I had the flu, [they] immediately offered
to walk the dogs for me.
Others stopped and talked from their gardens.
When I left March, a few people in the street when they heard
I was leaving said, "We're going to miss you;
you've been such a good neighbour."
I smiled and said. "Thank you," but the truth is,
the most they ever did was nod
when I pulled my dogs to the side
so they could zoom by in their cars.
Do you know the song Camp Granada?
Well, I think that song sums it up so far.
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