Our farmhouse is on a busy road, and when a big pine tree fell, we felt we had lost our most private corner. We’ve rebuilt it. The white birches block the road and give us thick and beautiful cover; I’ve set up my corner. It’s at the corner of the backyard and the Southern pasture. Sheep and donkeys come by to graze and try to nibble on a Dahlia if they can get it through the fence.

I have a rocking chair, and the corner slants down to make it almost invisible. Our miniature Stonehenge marks the boundary of the privacy corner, and it is bounded by the apple tree, the red barn, Maria’s studio, and the woodshed. We still have a  lot of bugs when a slight breeze comes up; it’s shaded and comfortable in my corner, a wonderful place to read, think or meditate.

This is a precious part of my world; it offers solace and a sense of place during this odd confinement. Tomorrow, Monday, Maria is driving me to see my surgeon, Dr. Daly, and we’ll have a look at the incision for the first time since the surgery.

My guess is when will keep me off my feet and confined to the farmhouse for a few more days, or if one believes in the Gods, maybe it will be well healed, and the stitches can come out. I wouldn’t bet on it, but one can always hope.

In the meantime, I’m enjoying these portraits of my world at the moment; I’m counting the days when I can return to the Mansion or Bishop Maginn.

I feel somewhat useless and Maria, who has been a wonderful caretaker, needs to get back to work. She spent much of the day trying to make some borsch, and it seems to have driven her to the edge.

I think our visit to Dr. Daly will open up the last chapter in my foot adventure. She needs to get back to work. Me too.