My run-in with cows... and the sun comes out!

If you've never stood near the fence of a pasture with twenty cows staring at you, then you can't imagine just how intimidating it is. Yesterday we drove to Cotterton, where Daddy and Amber were meeting someone (a particularly cheeky Scotsman) about installing a Franklin Stove in the living room. While they worked out the details, I decided to take a walk down the road (much like the bear who went over the mountain) to see what I could see. Cotterton Cottage is situated on a dirt road that goes between fields containing alternately cows and sheep... and one, with both (I don't know whether they got along, but the cows seemed to be playing shepherd, standing in the middle of the flock, and looking very tall). As it had done nothing but rain for the past week, I had to walk in the middle of the grassy area to preserve my shoes. As the road progressed (deteriorated), the possibility of stepping in some sort of animal droppings increased, so I eventually turned back. Anyway, as I walked back through the drier areas of the dirt road, I saw a herd of cows ambling towards me (we were separated by a fairly shoddy looking fence... no real obstacle for the determined bovine). They stopped near the fence and stared. And stared. That kind of eye contact from twenty-odd creatures ten times my weight brought to mind various images of my mangled body lying in the mud, having been thoroughly trampled by this who-knows-how-easily spooked herd. ("I've got so much to live for!" thought I, as I walked quickly away.) Suddenly, they all took off running in the other direction, only to reassemble further down the fence... where I was still walking. They did this a few more times, and by the time I got back to the house, I was half-relieved to be there, and half wondering, seriously? I'm afraid of cows? (I think we'll leave that one open for debate, as I really do like them a lot when they're not all staring and stampeding.)

This morning, the first thing I noticed upon waking up was sunshine peeking around my curtains. Sure enough, after almost a week of completely dismal weather, it was blessedly "partly cloudy." I'd completely forgotten how gorgeous the view is, when the sun brings out all the various shades of green and blue and yellow and purple. I couldn't take my eyes off it, for fear the clouds might change their minds, and cause the sun to disappear for another month. After breakfast, I headed out on Amber's bicycle for an adventure of an hour or so, which was absolutely wonderful. The power of Vitamin D is not to be underestimated. (Nor are the benefits of huffing and puffing your way up a hill that seems like a mile long.) When I came back, I showered and had probably the best practice session I've had in about a month. Probably a combination of the weather, the cardio (which I firmly believe is good for singing), and the past few days spent on getting the kinks out of my voice. I noticed a few of the highland cows looking up at my open window, as if they meant to be my audience. Well, I'll take what I can get. Anyway, as great as singing felt today, I'm still not particularly interested in a human audience yet. I began work on "Zeffiretti lusinghieri" from Idomeneo, as I'm fairly interested in Mozart, these days. We'll see. But as I know my party of readers is probably not so interested in a treatise on my practice sessions, I'll let this entry go for now. Suffice it to say that given a sunny day, a great bike ride and a fulfilling practice session, I feel human again.