Large birds of prey are a common sight, it’s most often buzzards. The hedges are their lavishly stocked larders. From at least 100 yards away you can hear the squeaks and whistles of the bird metropolis. As I approach, a patch falls silent, I picture the little side turned faces, bright eyes watching me, then, as they see my back, they pick up their conversations and the ruckus continues. A mexican wave of silence follows me along the road.
It’s subzero now. I love walking the fields to come home with clean boots.