Now and then Beatrice hung a sign at her gate. Another on her mailbox, it faced the other way. Words deep in meaning for Beatrice- Sonsie Farm is Idle Today.
Pets tended and fed she crawled back to bed, no visitors, no pony rides, no sales of eggs or hay, Idle all day. She wrote, I oft make a nest of blankets in my old stone stable. The warmth of horse and donkey, and goat, their life force, the strength their presence gives me. All the peaceful morning, shift of hoof, thud of snow melting off the low roof, contented munch of hay and feed. Beatrice curls up to snooze and read.
My good horse Rowan waits patiently outside, for in afternoon we set out on a ride. Bareback, her thick winter coat is warm. Feel the clean, soft leather reins of her bridle, pick our way slowly down the muddy track to town, on this day set aside to be idle. Oh she is a fine horse Rowan, a tall coaly-bay. Her hooves clop across the paved bit, wade the icy rills, as we climb high into the Welsh hills.
We cross fields where Godfrey and I used to play. And in the late winter sun by the ring of stones I laze, on the tough snow grass she will graze. For we two are a wee bit idle today…This evening I will dust, the pictures on my mantle, force myself to wash the dishes, dry and put them away. Domesticity is not my forte’..for indeed I have been idle today.