A Time to Dance
I am up early - very early. I hail May in all its finery, walking an ancient drover's way, heady with the scent of blossom:
The fields are frilled with white:
Mist curls up from a stream behind the dewy flowers:
A Muntjac hesitates ahead of me:
A Hare appears to beckon me on:
In the sky, the swifts are screaming, Here I am! Here I come! Now I'm gone!
While the bold Sedge Warbler rasps his territorial tune, Here I am! Don't come near!
The Meadow Pipit surrounds himself with prickles:
The Avocet Pas de deux is safe in the water:
And a Short-eared Owl just stares me out:
It is a beautiful time of year, though every season has its thing (Er, shouldn't that be Everything has its season? Ed.)
No. There is something of beauty in every season, and the blessing we have is that in this neck of the woods, at least, there is variety from month to month, even from day to day. Here three Prickets (Fallow Deer bucks in their second year) peer at me across the bulb field,
And a Turtle Dove looks down on me from above:
Things that are entirely seasonal. I just hope that they may come round again.
On my way home, I am struck by the shadow of the church, which reaches out to (but falls short of) the village.
Only a year ago I would share these walks with Amanda. Now she cannot join me across country on rough paths. We are limited to the paved ways of the Hunstanton Promenade and such. To every thing there is a season.....