Feast of the Hunters Moon

A small but select gathering. Perhaps what brought on the rain was the announcement that we would play cricket. Rain is then traditional. But we did mass with umbrellas to commemorate the life of Buddy, a dear friend and protector of the bush goats. We planted a black walnut – the most valuable hard wood – near where the old house once was. And beneath the tree, we stuffed farewell notes. John Llewelyn, dog-lover extraordinaire, who had met Buddy, wrote: “Thank you for your continuing joyful presence in the thoughts of your master and of all those others of us lucky enough to have known you.” We checked on the ducks – still swimming as a single flotilla. And we danced to Fleetwood Mac, and Eric Clapton. When people drifted home late it was still raining.