This morning, the chickens of Valley Street were out perambulating ... so plump and assured from a distance, so positively chicken up close.
On what I call the Tree of the Hanging Squirrels across the street, the Japanese maple leaves have started to shed in earnest. The squirrels, which are willing to hang upside down in order to reach the few remaining sweet shoots in cold weather, have yet to put in a large-scale appearance. There are one or two, but the three-ring circus they can offer has yet to materialize.
Last night was a bumpy ride physically, so today I have all the imagination and inventiveness of wet cardboard.
The 'kids' are all going to make the un-kid-ness felt today: Ives is off for a weekend of National Guard-ing. Angus and his sweetie are headed to Boston to see Blue Man Group -- a trio I had never seen but can see from Internet links why the show might be a lot of fun. And daughter Olivia and son-in-law Rich will pass through on their way to a dinner with friends after Rich's nearby meeting in Conn.
Somehow all this bits-and-scraps activity makes the house feel like one of those pin-ball bumpers that lights up and dings when struck by one ball after another ... a DING! and the ball careens to the next DING! The house is, in some small way, Ding Central.