We promised when you kindly contributed the Yummy One that we would send you footage of the baby goats – and finally we manage.
Here they are (with the soundtrack of their special song): Hua, Petal, Pierre and Griff, all certain of the great benevolence and promise of our world. And I have to say that I agree with them.
Today the succession of hills is cast with unabashed sun and there are great dark rains interceding. You can feel the growth – and the first, forthright green is in the willow trees. At six in the morning, I’m walking to the goat house for milking. I lost a friend this month, to breast cancer, aged 44. Resident in Canada for many years, I have always thought of her in springtime. She loved to grow things. And we grew up together here, in much the same way, in the Welsh grass and hippy smoke. There was a morning last week, as I was feeling my way through this news of her, when I walked out to the house to milk and the dawn stood me in one place. The snow’s last meltwater had risen in a fog that filled the space between the ground and sky, and all the colours of the sunrise were inside it.
