Two eggs.
Yesterday afternoon much hotter.
Looking at the beds of streams here, it is evident that the streams have shrunk very greatly, though whether recently or not I do not know. The stream along which we walked yesterday had in effect three beds. The bed in which it was actually running; perhaps 6’ wide & 1’ deep, a bed about 10’ wide into which it evidently swells at the wettest season of the year, & outside this is a wide bed channeled out of the chalk which showed that at some time in the past what is now a tiny stream was a considerable river.
Many more small birds about now. I suppose some of them migrants.
Leaves of pomegranate trees yellowing.
Orwell Diaries 1938-1942 
“Possibly related posts: (automatically generated)”:
Every post, that is. Hail the eggs
Leaves of the pommegranate tree yellowing
That “little silly war” raging
Orson’s flying saucers scaring
(albeit this 9 weeks earlier)
Czechoslovalka shrinking
(one of those days)
Britain & France acquiescencing
Lots of little birds ascending
And Eric leisurely walking
(with his usually invisible wife)
While at home hens are laying
one more egg one more egg one more egg…
praise the eggs
He works his easy magic and we can see the stream.
“…..much hotter” than what? you may ask.
Migrant birds, having infiltrated the indigenous population and having become indistinguishable, caused Orwell to become astonished by a dry riverbed in the desert and forget to render an etching.
Meanwhile, the oppressed hens cluck amongst themselves.
I think much hotter than yesterday’s chill.
Okay, so it’s not exactly desert.
Why did George Orwell cross the road?
A walk by the stream
Distracts from one fewer eggs:
Beds lie within beds
Natalie and Natalia. Interesting.
~~~~~
I love this blog; it reminds me of home.