As I walk the dog yesterday I notice that the barley is ripening and turning pinky-yellow. (At least, I think it's barley. I'm not too hot on my cereals.) I try to work out how to describe the colour and decide that pale apricot is about the nearest. Frog has a great-niece who used to have hair that colour. With her bright blue eyes, it was incredibly striking.
Locals are up in arms about a wind turbine that a farmer wants to put up on a hill behind the village. I don’t mind the look of them myself but it’s the noise apparently that’s the problem. I must investigate.
I find phone masts more intrusive. We have one that stares into our bedroom window, only just inside the supposed safe distance. Before it arrived I used to dawdle in the fields around it and rest in the shade of the hedgerow trees but now I hurry past as I can’t stop thinking about the fluences and the effect they might be having on my brain (a delicate creature at the best of times).
I find phone masts more intrusive. We have one that stares into our bedroom window, only just inside the supposed safe distance. Before it arrived I used to dawdle in the fields around it and rest in the shade of the hedgerow trees but now I hurry past as I can’t stop thinking about the fluences and the effect they might be having on my brain (a delicate creature at the best of times).
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