The seasons turn
 

There was fog again this morning. Skeins of flies were huddling
lethargically under the eaves trying to find some scrap of warmth. The sun
hit them and they were off into their last ephemeral mating, desperate and
clinging. A host of wagtails grow fat chittering as they gorge. The hum of
the bees on the cassia is audible inside the house. If any more come they
had better randomise their movements or it will take off .

The bats will leave soon and so leave my pomes in peace. The mulberry trees
are pulling back into themselves and starting to look ragged. The melons
still on the vine may ripen or not but the citrus are still pumping their
fruit full of juice. Gaudy pink and grey pumpkins have been marshalled into
heavy regiments on the verandah guarded by ratsak.

Struggling tomato plants have given way to bare earth waiting for broad
beans and snap peas to emerge. The ripe tomatoes must be turned to paste
before they rot and the rest into green jam.

The pasture is lush from steady late summer rain and the horses are
dutifully fat enough to get through winter. Except for the old girl who
isn't going to make it. She comes each morning and nickers for extra feed,
I give it to her but we both know it will do no good.

The seasons turn.

David

The seasons turn
 

"David Hare-Scott" wrote in message
...
There was fog again this morning. Skeins of flies were huddling
lethargically under the eaves trying to find some scrap of warmth. The
sun hit them and they were off into their last ephemeral mating, desperate
and clinging. A host of wagtails grow fat chittering as they gorge. The
hum of the bees on the cassia is audible inside the house. If any more
come they had better randomise their movements or it will take off .

The bats will leave soon and so leave my pomes in peace. The mulberry
trees are pulling back into themselves and starting to look ragged. The
melons still on the vine may ripen or not but the citrus are still pumping
their fruit full of juice. Gaudy pink and grey pumpkins have been
marshalled into heavy regiments on the verandah guarded by ratsak.

Struggling tomato plants have given way to bare earth waiting for broad
beans and snap peas to emerge. The ripe tomatoes must be turned to paste
before they rot and the rest into green jam.

The pasture is lush from steady late summer rain and the horses are
dutifully fat enough to get through winter. Except for the old girl who
isn't going to make it. She comes each morning and nickers for extra
feed, I give it to her but we both know it will do no good.

The seasons turn.

David

Hey,
That's not a bad piece of descriptive prose.
Cheers,
Dan

The seasons turn
 

On Wed, 17 Mar 2010 10:31:04 GMT, " Dan" wrote:

Hey,
That's not a bad piece of descriptive prose.

Alcohol does that...

The seasons turn
 

The seasons turn
 

" Dan" wrote in message
"David Hare-Scott" wrote in message
...
There was fog again this morning. Skeins of flies were huddling
lethargically under the eaves trying to find some scrap of warmth. The
sun hit them and they were off into their last ephemeral mating,
desperate and clinging. A host of wagtails grow fat chittering as they
gorge. The hum of the bees on the cassia is audible inside the house. If
any more come they had better randomise their movements or it will take
off .

The bats will leave soon and so leave my pomes in peace. The mulberry
trees are pulling back into themselves and starting to look ragged. The
melons still on the vine may ripen or not but the citrus are still
pumping their fruit full of juice. Gaudy pink and grey pumpkins have
been marshalled into heavy regiments on the verandah guarded by ratsak.

Struggling tomato plants have given way to bare earth waiting for broad
beans and snap peas to emerge. The ripe tomatoes must be turned to paste
before they rot and the rest into green jam.

The pasture is lush from steady late summer rain and the horses are
dutifully fat enough to get through winter. Except for the old girl who
isn't going to make it. She comes each morning and nickers for extra
feed, I give it to her but we both know it will do no good.

The seasons turn.

David

Hey,
That's not a bad piece of descriptive prose.

I think it was better than 'not bad'. I thought it was delightful. Sorry
to hear about the horse though David.

The seasons turn
 

wrote in message
...
On Wed, 17 Mar 2010 10:31:04 GMT, " Dan" wrote:

Hey,
That's not a bad piece of descriptive prose.

Alcohol does that...

Are you suggesting he was Nissed as a Pewt?????

The seasons turn
 

The seasons turn
 

On 18/03/2010 12:34 AM, FarmI wrote:
" wrote in message
"David wrote in message
...
There was fog again this morning. Skeins of flies were huddling
lethargically under the eaves trying to find some scrap of warmth. The
sun hit them and they were off into their last ephemeral mating,
desperate and clinging. A host of wagtails grow fat chittering as they
gorge. The hum of the bees on the cassia is audible inside the house. If
any more come they had better randomise their movements or it will take
off .

The bats will leave soon and so leave my pomes in peace. The mulberry
trees are pulling back into themselves and starting to look ragged. The
melons still on the vine may ripen or not but the citrus are still
pumping their fruit full of juice. Gaudy pink and grey pumpkins have
been marshalled into heavy regiments on the verandah guarded by ratsak.

Struggling tomato plants have given way to bare earth waiting for broad
beans and snap peas to emerge. The ripe tomatoes must be turned to paste
before they rot and the rest into green jam.

The pasture is lush from steady late summer rain and the horses are
dutifully fat enough to get through winter. Except for the old girl who
isn't going to make it. She comes each morning and nickers for extra
feed, I give it to her but we both know it will do no good.

The seasons turn.

David

Hey,
That's not a bad piece of descriptive prose.

I think it was better than 'not bad'. I thought it was delightful. Sorry
to hear about the horse though David.


He's obviously got (the 'orse)it on drugs.
David's struggling tomatoes were obviously planted in a climate
oblivious to the many needs of tomatoes.
Melons round my place dont face indecision, being planted by a computer
programmer. They know they're going to die, and being the hero's they
accept their fate. No wimpy fruits here.
War like bats are welcome. I've been taken them out for years.
Ragged Mulberries? Pulling themselves. Control yourselves sir.
As far ars the cirtus goes. Disgusting behavior.
What are you teaching your fruits sir!