9 sleeps

only 9 more sleeps till the sold house (and lovely money for said sold house) changes hands. every penny within my reach screams for mercy till then. but the deep freeze and the jelly cupboard started the season full, and the cupboards were far from bare, so granny's no leaner than before.

the sky out my window is ash-grey and moodily dripping. there's a strip of pale blue rubbing its way through along the bottom, above soggy fields of dull gold stubble. the crops were good, i hear, and the rain has held off till most of our farmers had them harvested and the work of their labors in the bins, thanking the gods of technology for their grain driers. most of the grain is too wet to store for long, so now begins the long, noisy, messy, energy consumptive job of running it through these monsters to bring the moisture content down. they look a bit like beheamouth drums from clothes driers, and work the same way. the grain is tumbled and blasted with hot air till it's dry enough that it won't catch fire or ferment in the bins.

in something over 9 sleeps i'll be able to further illuminate you with digitally stored blinks worth a thousand words.

the repetetive stress injury is healing nicely; i'm looking forward to returning to my blogsite regularly.... soon.

happy autumn to those in the north - happy spring to those down under; wishing rainy blessings to those in need of heaven's tears.