cooing at another time

 It is forty minutes past nine in the morning, and the day is fine. The stomach and the bowels are sore, perhaps it was too much coffee, who knows?

In one hours time it will be time to leave with the two artists, they want pictures of a display in town. This will be work, though their company is always pleasant. The weather is too bright, but nothing is going to change that soon.

The indigestion has got worse, go downstairs to deal with the matter, and then upstairs again to put all the bags into order for the expedition. And now it is two minutes past ten. In the rooms there are three clocks, they all show the same time. They were collected from different sources, there are two German clocks which have electromagnetic winders and one French clock which works using an electromagnet to deliver an impulse to the pendulum. They are all reasonably accurate, this was a craze some years ago. They have a certain tictoc beauty, and they are very much more valuable now than they were when they were acquired.

Time is passing now, and there is little sense in starting anything in a big way.

It is just a matter of hoping that the matter with the bowels will resolve itself soon. This is an unpleasant matter to talk about and probably not so comfortable reading matter.

But the interim at the open door with the light from the sunlit sky coming in with the birdson outside is just pleasant. A cawing crow passes by, the rough sound is a contrast. There are no pigeons to be heard, they will start all their cooing at some other time.