Yesterday we were in downtown Geneva, Switzerland, an international city. We passed stores, saw the Jet d'Eau, and went to a book sale. A bit of a bustle as lots of people did Saturday errands and searched for places to have lunch. The canicule had passed but it was still warm moving toward hot.
This morning we woke to 17/60° degrees, a wet patio from the night's rain. Sweatshirts were needed for our morning dog walk.
None of our neighbors were stirring, probably still in bed. Even the dog walkers, whom we usually passed had not poked themselves out of their houses.
Sherlock usually selects the route. Today he passed one of my favorite gardens with roses, black-eyed susans and lots of white, pink and purple flowers I name as pretty.
After one field whose amber grain has been given a crew cut, we passed a passage where seven donkeys ate from a rolled bale of hay on a cart. There was one baby and one teenage donkey.
One donkey only took hay from the top, while another went for the middle. There was no pushing and shoving, as if they were following a donkey good manners book.
Sherlock wasn't sure what to do. He strode up to the fence with a certain bravado, but when one donkey interrupted eating to stroll in his direction, a bit of hay on her lips, he went into reverse.
I was struck by the contrast the three kilometers from our village to the city offers. I bask in it.
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