Quiet Time

I am drawn to places that are frequently busy, but quiet when I am there. I used to love Sundays on my home farm, when tractors were still, fields were empty, animals were tended - but only as much as was necessary for their welfare. We often go on holidays in the off-season, imagining what holiday towns and beaches would be like in mid-summer. Once, we visited the Alhambra in freezing weather; we were not alone but we could find entire courtyards or chambers to ourselves. I love empty docks and deserted factories; sports fields when there is no game

The box scheme at the market garden takes two weeks off at Christmas, but we still visit to fetch milk and dairy products, and scavenge any remnants in the honesty shop. No-one is there; the harvesting boxes are neatly stacked, the wheelbarrows lined up, the all-but-empty greenhouses and tunnels waiting for the growing light; even the PV panels have little to do today. In the sodden, still air and silence, everything is dripping. You could find it forlorn; to me, it is poised, waiting for the off; the scene set, ready to come alive when the cast enter and the lights fire up. I wasn't looking at the birch catkins when I took the picture, but they resonate nicely

Our wifi router died yesterday evening. Miraculously (well, it's the season), someone answered (eventually) the help line. "How old is it?"; "Oh, probably at least five years"; "Yeah, they usually peg out at about five years". I worked out afterwards that it is eleven years; the five-year-old was still in the cupboard - the original wasn't broke so I didn't fix it. After a day of googling out-of-date manuals, the 5yo router is now in a working relationship with the laptop, the phones, the printer, the inverter, the range extender and the internet. Must remember to swap it before the Christmas quiet-time in 2035