Another Country Diary #50
With mist, frost, and the restless life of winter fields.
22/12
I leave the house just past eight in the morning to post some last minute cards. The sun is rising, and the air is full of the strident song of robins and the soft cooing of doves. The morning is too good to waste on screens. I do enough of that most of the year round. I don’t have to drive anyone to school or myself to the office, so I can revel in the rising sun for a while. After the post box I turn onto the bridleway that runs past an overgrown orchard, then out across the corner of a field crossed by pylons, past a ramshackle tractor barn behind which heaps of brash and rubble fill a small paddock, and along the path that leads to the old brickyard woods.
Along the hedgerow, the small shufflings of birds. A dunnock’s song. And further along, goldfinches, flitting through the stems. A flock of little gulls h…
