Watching the River Flow

A porridge-like layer of dusty heat had settled itself over the village this morning like a too warm duvet. So the Grand dog Bess and I reluctantly dragged our sorry asses for a walk down the old railway line, past the fishing pond with the solitary heron cooling its feet among the clotted weed, through the field with the grumpy horse and back again to the river, where Bess played Retrieve the Stick in its cooling water.
Tomorrow the forecast showers will come and rinse away the stickiness

The sun has just gone over the yard arm so we're in the garden with a beer.