I’ve spent today in the garden, taking advantage of the cooler weather and the breeze to put the water seal on the one-man catamaran in time for summer.
When I entered the house for my 4 o’clock tea, I noticed that my dictionary was open to H and my magnifying glass was positioned over hysteria.
There was also the distinct odor of burnt molasses and all the windows were open.
I should have recognized that this wind was not only bringing a storm, but also something wicked. I’ve combed the house and locked all the windows.
Bubo has settled into the oval window in the corner of the East Tower and is quietly humming Schubert. Not a good sign, indeed.