Love

             

 Love

If only there would be a time

When everything was fine

When doves could fly and dogs would run

To help the human kind.

No hunters left to kill our friends

No one would kill at all

The world would stop and take a break

And start to love again.

No children would be out alone

No crying in the streets

We all would lend a helping hand

And wish for happy peace.

And builders would pick up they're tools

And start to build again

The teachers would take things in hand.

Fill minds with light and zen.

The pain to cease, the hurting end

And rain would fall again

The sun to dry where need would be

For crop to grow once more.

It's good to write off happy times

It's fine to be naive

If no one speaks, then no one sees

What happy times could be.

                                                  Nina 5 years old, going on 50

I wrote this poem one morning, this week, after reading the news. Ebba thought it was fine and dear husband was impressed that I had done it at the age of five.

You really have to love a man so completely supportive, and a bit tired! When I was five years old I rode around on a black Shetland pony at the local riding school and could not even spell my own name. My feet were short and the pony slightly circular so I could not even ride very well. My husband, though, thought I was a poet, albeit, a very bad one.

We are having yet another winter storm today. It blows in from the sea and the wind is so cold that it takes your breath away. Our dear sheep found it refreshing and Ebba took me for a brisk walk/slow sprint, over the fields so that I really could enjoy myself. The good thing with Ebba's walking style is, that even in arctic conditions you soon feel hot and over-dressed. It was lovely, but I can't tell you much about the scenery as the snow blew into our eyes. Good exercise, though, and the walk did not last that long so there's was plenty of time for other stuff.

On Sunday morning, I slowly drank my morning coffee, reading the paper. Ebba ate one half of a small mat. Today I, once again, vacuumed the house and Ebba chewed a hole in my duvet cover. (Our dear dog believes in shedding her coat on regular basis, so we really feel that she has arrived).

The more our Ebba grows, in size and confidence, the more mayhem she creates, albeit in a very polite way.

We bought a very simple chest made from pine wood, many years ago. It has been handy as a table for pot plants, filled with my knitting wool. It is a square box, four sharp corners on the lid and that's about it. Now it looks slightly surprised, as someone has rounded one of its corners. Ebba had not seen the culprit.

My, our sporty sheep, has got an idea in to her head that has now stuck. She is a bit stubborn that way and usually it's no big deal. This time it is, as the clever lady found some hen food in the manure heap that I had swept out with the goo. Now she goes through the manure heap like a metal detector in search of Viking treasures, when my back is turned. It's not healthy for her and we have had words. Half the village heard us today, due to the storm.

We also had one of those perfect comedy moments today, thanks to one of the guest hens. I went over to feed the sheep and to check on the hens. The hens were all busy turning over a huge heap of hay I had given them earlier. Very busy. I decided to give them an extra hour before changing to the evening light and went home to feed Ebba. Our lovely dog has really started eating like a big dog should and it's a pleasure to watch.

When I returned to the stable and opened the door to the sheep pen, out stomped a muttering, mumbling hybrid hen. She is quite a large hen and loud when upset, I now know. She walked passed me, head held high and disappeared into the hen house, without looking back, or taking a break in her mutterings. The dear hen can't have been locked in with the sheep for long but boy was she uptight about it. Mindy, the hen's number one fan, looked sad to see her go.

The hybrids are "man-made hens for egg laying purposes" and can't lift like a helicopter, like our smaller once do. She must have missed her landing on the partition wall and ended up visiting four surprised sheep, instead of landing next to Monty, for the night. It was just so funny to see her Hyacinth Bucket walk of shame, when really, it could happen to anyone. No one laughed but I must admit that I giggled all the way back home. (Yes, I have a small life.) I also lifted her up to her place next to our sleepy cockerel.

Dear husband has started learning his lines for this summer's theatre play. It sounds like a good one, but Ebba thinks she will still be too shy to go on a cultural outing. Maybe next year... I loved the play that needed a false tummy, a few years ago. I got to make it and dear husband ended up looking like my childhood friend, the Shetland pony. It was a very funny production and Mr. Chip even came with us to see it. Happy days.

Now it's time for Ebba and me to face the dark unknown, yet again. For quite a large dog to be so frightened of a few white hares is mind boggling. Still, on the bright side, we don't hang about anymore, out there in the cold. Small mercies and we take them where we find them.

Have a nice week and be well. Five weeks to Easter! All that chocolate...