It was lying dead on the lane near my gate, its little front
paws stretched out as though it was trying to break its fall. I’d never noticed
before how like a human hand a mole’s front paw looks.
The Cow
A little white heifer, one of a herd of about thirty that
are occupying a field between my house and the valley. She was chasing a
pheasant around, and obviously only playing a game because cows can run a lot
faster than pheasants and the bird didn’t need to take off. Eventually she
galloped back to her more sedate friends who were gathered by the gate on the
far side. I think I heard ‘wheeeeee’
drifting across the landscape, but I might have imagined that bit.
Sam’s Old Tractor
A little, late-1950’s vintage Dexter, which Ange told me he’d
bought as a present for their daughter. It’s been standing in his middle field
for some weeks, having helped with the haymaking, and was being taken home to
be spruced up. Sam proudly remarked that it had been left unattended behind
a cow shed for eleven years, but had started at the first attempt. It was also completely
original in every respect. I remarked that it was made at a time when things
were designed to last, and also be relied upon to work perfectly most of the
time. A simpler age. Indeed.
The Western Sky at Sunset
A glorious, if rather messy one. It was exactly the same as
the ones you don’t see when looking east across the Mediterranean from Valencia.
(Occasional readers might care to read this
by way of reference.) A troop of mediaeval Moorish cavalry with cloaks
a-billowing would have looked quite splendid in silhouette, but such an eventuality is rarer
now than finding Liv Tyler’s handbag without an airbrush tool. Maybe the local
Nazgul frightened them off.
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