Power to yer elbow

A team of contractors have been in cutting out the wood beneath power lines. It’s a discretionary duty of the electricity company under lines of domestic voltage. But they’ve been drafted in because things have reached a sorry/pretty pass. As you can see by this mess of cables.

God bless the guys who do this work - Albanian or Macedonian workers I’d guess. They’ve got decent protective gear but slashing your way through abandoned woodland on 1 in 3 slopes makes the Giro d’Italia look like a picnic.

I clambered under though the lines they’ve cleared. It’s a mess alright but they’re clearing lines not managing the land beneath.

A better day today but the cool nagging wind is back in the evening.

Not Whitsun in italy but was always my favorite bank holiday back home.

The birdsong dies away. A few crickets sing diminutively and the dogs pick up the bark.

Domenico down the road, briefly back in their house from Florence with Maria-Rosa says, ‘And mark my words, from this cold miserable wet May we’ll soon be oppressed by the cathedral heat of a suffocating humid summer. I’m too old and the allotment can go to weeds. I’ll wait it out.’

Or something like that.

The climate changes and we’re never quite sure which is it: the change or just vagaries of weather. But changes it do.