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