Maggie and I were out all morning doing our magazine routes. Its great spending time together in the preaching work. And we found quite a few at home. I had an appointment with the Lung Lady after lunch - all seems OK - and if my tests continue to be so, she will only need to see me every year from now on.
I still wonder at ending up here, in the chalky downlands, flint shining everywhere, stepping over the "close bit thyme" of the Kipling poem, "Sussex".
I think I will quote a line or two now:
We have no waters to delight
Our broad and brookless vales--
Only the dewpond on the height
Unfed, that never fails--
Whereby no tattered herbage tells
Which way the season flies--
Only our close-bit thyme that smells
Like dawn in Paradise.
Like dawn in Paradise
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