Items swept up from the kitchen floor this morning:
- Bread flour and crumbs from the cotton Leclerc bag that sits on the shelf where we keep the dog leads, which Tod has taken into town with the dogs to get today's bread.
- A cornflake from yesterday morning's breakfast, found under the kitchen table. I'm surprised it hasn't got chocolate on it. They are big on chocolate covered breakfast cereals in France.
- Wood ash. More than recently because, for the first time in weeks, we had the kitchen range going all day yesterday. The wind has moved round to the north and all day strong gusts brought in hail storms. We bought a small mandarin tree with one mandarin on Monday. It proudly sat in its pot on the veranda for half a day, dark green leaves gleaming in the sun. It's now sheltering in the dining room until the weather improves again.
- Small chips of wood and bark that march across the floor, escaping from the wicker basket, which sits by the range and holds the logs we bring in from the veranda.
- A long bleached thread of rye grass, dry and jointed, brought in caught on the dogs' coats or our sweaters.
- Rolls of Clara's and Smudge's fur that emerge from under the bottom of doors, each a small universe of bits of dirt and dust snagged in the hairs. Lisa calls them dust bunnies.
- Half a homeopathic pill that one of the dogs has spat out. I anxiously dose them periodically when their aches and pains and Smudge's licking seem to be worse.
- Small white flakes of paint from the old walls that seem determined to shed their recent owners' attempts to smarten the house up.
- A piece of dried up cauliflower leaf. Not last night's supper. Must be an off-cut from preparing the dogs' dinner a couple of nights ago. Where's it been hiding?
And it will all be there again tomorrow morning.