Is he good?

keeping it simple, there's much to be said

· Hello and welcome. Thank you for passing by. I write Vineyard Tales, on vineyard walks, in the fields of northern Spain. Welcome to this week’s short tale… 🌿

‘Is he good?’ Shouted the woman in the woods at me. For some instinctive, but otherwise unintentional reason, I put my hand on my heart, looked at her and say,

Excuse me?

- ‘Is he good?’

Feeling quite at a loss, I turn to follow her gaze only to see a golden mutt following me.

Oh! No.

I mean. No idea.

He isn’t with me.

She looked at me surprised and said,

- ‘He looks very much, with you! ‘

And without any hesitation, and in the same breath, but even louder this time, she shouts over my head (and right in my left ear),

-‘Is he good?’

I turn and see a couple in the distance just turning onto the same track as us.

They don’t seem to understand either, or can’t hear her, surprisingly, and she repeats the same call.

I can’t help feeling how marvellously simplistic her conversation starter is. Three words. To her, totally and marvellously self-explanatory. Why waste words I thought.

Who am I to judge?

Luckily I seem to have become invisible. I continue my walk downhill in the direction of home.

Is he good? Are we good? Is he doing his best? Am I doing the best I can do?

The questions flit around my head. No answers today, just questions it seems.

I hear a bird call. I don’t recognise the song. I open the Merlin app. Luckily the Serins have quietened down momentarily enough for the phone to hear what apparently turns out to be a Woodlark. I am surprised. It is not a song I know.

It always amazes me how many birds sing more than one kind of song. Do I sing the same old song? Am I stuck on the same track? More questions.

Then the woodlark sings again. This time it sings the song I do know. It is so distinctive. It sounds like a bird is singing through one of those children’s sliding whistles and the notes decline on every note, quite often a few of them are out of tune. To me the song stands out a mile.

I write to Dad. He loves birds,

‘Greenfinches, Crested Tits, Woodlarks, Linnets, a murmuration of Goldfinches and Cirl Buntings and I haven’t even had breakfast yet!’

I sit on a safer part of a dry-stone wall and get my mini-coffee flask out of my bumbag, which I swear was made exactly to fit the flask. I sip and listen and watch the landscape. The mud has compacted round the edges of the fields so it’s easy walking. The vines are all pruned and empty. Resting. Peaceful. Gathering their energy to start all over again. The farmer has ploughed between the rows. He knows it is just a matter of time.

Almond blossom is out but only just. On one tree there are seven flowers, the rest is just a million tiny buds about to burst. I suppose one flower has to go first.

Somebody always has to go first. Am I in that bunch of firsters? Definitely not I’d say. It takes all sorts.

As I am closing the app on my phone a dog has passed me with a stick as wide as she is long. She’s dropped the stick. Surprising. ..dogs don’t like dropping sticks in my opinion. Unless they have a reason.

At this point I hear a familiar sound. I immediately register that it is the sound of my metal flask wobbling on the stones.

To my disbelief the dog is licking the top of the bottle.

Great!

The owner catches up with the coffee thief. She says good morning beaming a big, friendly smile. I reply likewise, even if there is a very grey and dull sky.

- ‘Hope she hasn’t disturbed you.’ She says, as she looks at the saliva-covered stick on the ground at my feet.

No. Not at all. She likes my coffee though. Think I’ll give the rest of the flask a miss today.

I laugh.

- ‘Oh no!! I’m so sorry!’ She exclaims and I reply,

No really, it’s not your fault I left the flask on the wall. Anyway, she’s done me favour. It’s my second morning coffee. I could do with less caffeine.

She smiles and starts walking away, saying

-‘I’ll leave you to enjoy the peace’ smiling.

Yes, in peace, I think.

No further questions your honour 🌿

* Sorry for all the typos in the emailed version. Written too fast I’d say!

first flowers for wintry February

Reminding, resetting, remembering or learning…

‘Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication’ - Leonardo da Vinci. Gosh I wish I’d said that.

Lots of love.

Thank you so much for being here

🌿

This week on Substack

A call out to

Emily Charlotte Powell

,

Susie Mawhinney

and

Feasts and Fables

for promoting others and inspiring us, here is my attempt this week to share the love a bit further:

Here’s another wonderful Substack writer who loves talking birds, in a much more informed way than I from

Melissa Lee

Sparrows

And

Laura Pashby

with excerpts from her new book, ‘Chasing Fog’. I totally get her love of mist.

Chasing Fog Book Club: Chapter 2

A beautiful short read from

David E. Perry

and his love of magic.

And While The Moon Begins To Set

Written this Saturday morning and corrected for several daft typos. Sorry about that!