Indeed it was a beautiful day today. It seems that so much has taken place over the course of the day that it is difficult to recollect the greater part of it, but I am filled with gladness at present and watching Lady Pigeon leap about as if she were but a young pup. One of her favourite pasttimes is tossing a small bit of parchment in the air and leaping after it. It is that activity in which she is presently engaged. If I could but paint a picture...
Meanwhile, I do believe the weekly services were yet this morning, followed by a lengthy visit with a favourite companion of mine, Mr. Crosby. His arias are delectable and I cannot imagine a Sunday afternoon without him lending his talents to a recital. He does so with ease and finesse.
Following the recital, and lunch with the others of my family, my dearest sister and I paid a visit to the Disney estate for a bit of exercise around one of the many lakes. I do so adore the many paths available for such walks on a summer evening.
But a rare occurence was the discovery of a book of sermons by a treasured authoress that ought to be well-known to you, dear Diary. A woman of Christian descent, by the name of Austen. A Miss Jane Austen to be exact. Can you imagine it? A rare find, indeed it was!
Now if you will pardon me, I must retire once more, for I am to be revisited by the ambiguous character I told you of a near fortnight ago, quite early on the morrow.
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