weekling

A week can last a long time, in Havran I swear it lasts longer. 
Sleepily I write amongst the overnight herd at Stansted Airport awaiting FR2314's early morning departure back to my other civilisation. Switching languages in my head (hahaha, not as if my Slovak ear is anywhere near proficient and my learning worded textbooks remained closed once again on a journey; I need kicking!), preparing my return. Bag packed with another back-dated country living magazine to provide some fantasy for the cottage and another retro board game, not that we get bored. 
Can't wait to be back, back into the escapism with no frills. The dogs get confused the first few days when I am away, the cats less so. But me more so as I recognise less and less from the country I used to live in. That's not necessarily a negative thing, just it reflects on how long a week can last.    

Rocking

The full blooming trees spookily glisten under the moonlit cool and clear night sky. Over on the hillside above Havran Cottage a wheelbarrow squeaks along the bumpy surface with a bucket full of mid-size stones which will eventually complete a drainage path surface. It may look like further criminal damage to our local landscape but clearing the rocks from the surrounding fields can only help the farmer when he comes to cut the meadow grass in the summer. And all the secrecy with our night fall trips? Neighbours like to gossip and gossip they would do if they see us searching for stones. "Mad englishman, surely he could buy a load".
But our criminal adventure must continue. The price of stone is high and our area is awash with them. We must continue with our quiet evening trips.