A walk. A simple walk to the letterbox one brisk sunny cold winter’s day.
Something up ahead. Or is that down ahead? The box is 300 metres down the mountain from the house.
At first I thought it might be one of Monsieur Perrochon’s escaping sheep….
I seem to have had an infestation of llamas on the farm.
Or is that an alpaca?
I have no idea.
Three of them. Two monstrously tall. One forever hiding and then peeping out.
And I’m not sure but that rather fast trot towards me felt a touch menacing.
I bid a hasty retreat.