Hanging on in there

The Pyrenean fridge opened it's doors wide today and the light and air have suddenly changed.  Cold rain and gusts from the West. 
Brief bursts of washed out sun backlit the ash tree branches which brushed the back door.  For some reason Jean Sabatier put plastic panes in instead of glass which make the windows look dirty but they seem to be draft free so they're doing their job in a cloudy kind of way.  
For reasons beyond our ken the sluice at the top of the canal has been closed and it has run dry leaving deep, wet sludge and gudgeon gasping for breath.  Bernie sinks thigh deep in the mud mulling over the state of his canal.  Babeth lumbers up and down the street in a state of distress because her ducks have no water and the most beautiful one has gone missing.  I kind of wanted to tell her that it tasted good in our stew last night but bit my tongue. It's useless wasting good petrol on a raging fire.