Although I'm back in New York, I'm reluctant to leave England.
As Sarah Laurence puts it, I've got blog-lag.
This little thatched hut/shack/folly which houses croquet mallets and such like
might be a home for a hermit - or a hobbit.
He could sit under the horse chestnut tree and wait for conkers to drop on his head and look out through the mist to cows on the horizon.
Or he could plan what to do with the very large stone ball outside his door.
Or he could wander down the garden path and think what plant should be put in the urn.
At the back door to the main house, a metal bucket waits to be filled with useful things.