It’s a proper November day again. The air is cool, the
breeze light, the sky leaden and the atmosphere damp. The far hills are almost
washed from view by the mist, and as I walked along the quiet of Mill
Lane, untroubled by traffic, I watched life
going on mindlessly and yet purposefully around me.
Birds flitted from bough to hedge, cows grazed incessantly, two
rabbits chased one another around a field. The trees and hedgerows stood
seemingly solid and inscrutable, while the new-sown grass grew imperceptibly on
its way to becoming next year’s meadow.
And the question cropped up again: is the ability and inclination
to question life the one thing that separates us from the rest of it? I think
it probably is, and what a price we do pay in peace of mind sometimes.
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