The Tortoise and the Hare

Actually, I was about to post this item yesterday evening when I was quite literally snowed under. I'll try now when it is merely raining.

Strictly, I think it is more about turtles  -

and I felt I had a chance to "win" my road race with them since they are not allowed to enter until May - they may not march in March. However, the organizers cautioned me about trying that rule since I obviously exceeded 60 by a decade of decadence, "fallen", about to where my waist was. Also
I was not a "hare" - rather more hairless if one might be excused for using "more" for "less"  - English! No selfies for confirmation of any of these statements.

The race "began" at "P" on Old Barrie Road.

It was hard not to smile at this, part way down the hill, on my left side:

I called this "Winter Half Over" and of course, the next day it snowed those pesky white insects.

My run was uphill:

Up hill and head wind

Long hill!

The downhill on the other side is a welcome sight - until one realizes that one has to return:

At the bottom:

Ominous?
2.2km
Now the run back:

Also uphill all the way and a headwind again.

But what a view:

Like a herd of turtles:

There were a few patriotic spectators out to view the spectacle.

And home - slow and steady wins the race - ah!

W O B

Wool Gathering down memory/red oak lane

I suppose wool gathering took on significance in Scotland. I lost a golf ball or three in the gorse and under the sheep. Imagine your lawn covered with yellow dandelions that went to seed - the white "Santa Claus" of childhood. Then transfer the scene to "The Braids" and the white "pustelblumen" are tuffs of wool shed by Shawn-the-sheep and co-habitors of fairways. And your golf ball is "out there" somewhere.

So a couple of days ago I was invited by "Tom Saywer" to gather up "wool" in a tradition going back a few years and marked by a generous serving of delicous chili. We start here - looking back as is suitable for memories.

If I look behind along the above photo's right side I see our work done:

The leaves have been raked into the undergrowth. The "wool gatherer" was trying to capture - no not capture - dance with the leaf fairies:

"The old order changeth, yielding place to new, less one good custom should corrupt the world." I hope I am at least a good "custom" although sometimes I have my doubts:

I wonder what he thought as we looked at each other peacefully:

Long may he live.

W O B