Note for new readers:
Rubí donkey writes an occasional Tuesday piece on Equusasinus.net, helped by Morris donkey when background reading is required.
So, that’s Palm Sunday over for another year. We ate the palms. What’s next? Morris has gone back to eating trousers. And I’m in my house awaiting further developments.
Time to reflect on things and do thinkings about nothing and everything. It’s good that we have spring again because winter really is rubbish and it was particularly rubbish this year. After all the storms the stream is still running down in the valley, but not the great flood it was before. We can still hear it from the terraces but it is not the great roaring torrent it was in March.
Directly under the terraces in the valley, a pine tree fell down in the storms and under the tree a spring has opened up. It is above the level of the stream and quite a lot of water is flowing from it.
It’s funny to think that there is water flowing beneath these dry terraces where Morris is flinging himself around having another dust bath.
And then, of course, after palms and weathery things, I suppose I should say something about toys. Our toys are usually arranged nicely for us in the morning by the rabit person, and he puts the rubber inflatable boat fender inside the orange bucket, with the old wellies neatly arranged on the old tyre. We all think the toys are entirely boring but we know it amuses him if we pick them up and start pretending to be interested in them. Morris lobbed a wellie over the fence into the road outside, a couple of weeks ago, and the rabit person returned home from work in his car and found a wellie standing upright in the road. As if some one-legged farmer had suddenly gone mega-holy and ascended to heaven while hopping across the road.
The orange bucket tends to travel quite widely, usually with either Morris or Aitana sticking their nose in it and running around with the bucket scraping the ground. Hours and hours of endless fun. The bucket travelled down to level 2 last week, but neither Morris nor Aitana could get it back uphill again. It is obviously a downhill bucket. Uphill buckets need to be tighter fitting on the donkey nose.
I sometimes pick up the bucket and put it somewhere different, just for the sake of not seeing it in the usual place, which is boring. I played a trick on the rabit person. I put the bucket in the corner of the stable and stood in front of it at the time when the rabit person usually arranges the toys in their usual place. He spent half an hour looking for it. There you are. You wanted us to play games with buckets, didn’t you?
Little does he know: if I keep really still and listen, I can hear the sea in the bucket.
There: that’s mainly everything. It is writtied. Well mainly nothing.
2 thoughts on “Thoughts about Nothing and Everything”
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Don’t encourage this sort of roodness, Mrs Rowser: Rubí is being a norty donkey again and bringing the blog into disrepute.