Out early, milk anyone ?

 A world without cars, or at least putting distance between them, I descended past the suburban houses down a narrow path into open parkland. It's 7.00am, I had forgotten the milk and not wishing to make my guests any more crotchety I set off to walk to the shop.
I don't know what a collective of dog walkers is called but they were out in force, walking together, meeting to compare the current history of their canine companions. "Has he had his injection, what did the Vet say" ? They are a happy bunch, not able to wag their tails they chatter and wish you good morning, a far cry from the piercing gaze of the people in the cars as they swish by on their way to an appointment, no time to dwell, no time for anything but the starting clock within some office building in the city. The worry on their faces as they contemplate a motorway full to bursting, that hidden agenda over which they have no control but which their colleagues have no sympathy.
The dog walkers are oblivious of this, their clock is governed by the whistle of the kettle and the early morning tea. Walkie's !  Rusty stirs himself out of his warm basket, are these humans mad or simply obsessed. Anyway it will be good for some canine chat and I might get a chance to nip that bully boy Sam in the behind he's getting too big for his boots.
The early morning, sun is out and the birds are in full throat seeking to establish their existence by calling out their distinctive song. And what a chorus it is, the clear piercing notes of the blackbird, the rhythmic cooing of the doves the tiny cheep cheep of the wren. An orchestra that starts as the first light begins to chase the darkness away, as if the dangers of the night need to be suspended by the sound of "I'm all right". "I'm all right".
It's voting day and the schools have metamorphosed overnight into polling stations.
The busy political clique, optimistic that this will be their day are out manning the stations, sitting behind their tables lists in front, "name please".
There was for me, always something symbolic about turning up to vote. I suppose it was a bug I caught from my Dad who was a political animal. Voting was an opportunity and a responsibility, voting mattered, it was part of the social contract. How could you complain about Government if you couldn't be bothered to vote and try to influence events with your vote. The sense of the importance of this day was never lost on me although in the many years I lived outside this country I never had a vote and I remember the occasion of my first election since coming home I felt reunited by the functionality of casting my preference.
I'm home now and the sleeping beauties are oblivious of my errand of mercy (mercy to myself, they might have killed me otherwise). They haven't digested the sights and sounds of my walk nor the tip tap of writing my impressions to you all but soon I must break the tranquillity for the rough and tumble of family life !!!