halftwo
Wird Batcher
The sleeping form of the winter moor lies recumbent, shoulders and hips heaped above her waist, deep creases dark as the shadows caress.
Above a fleet sun slips from sliding clouds and breaks to blind. Heather, brown and brittle, and frosted bracken cloak the hills. Only Red Grouse skim the contours - running from fire - the smoke in four ribbons above the burn.
Below in greener fields beginning to grow beyond the snowdrop crowded verges, flocks rove. Fieldfares and Starlings strut and hop, then jump for the sky in a crowd. Hundreds of birds spiral as a Crow-harrassed Buzzard tilts towards the wood.
The wind, channelled up a steep valley whistles through the beeches as a Great-spotted Woodpecker climbs.
Further on and a flock of Lapwings and Curlews, recently returned, probe soft earth. But on flatter fields the flocks are huge: seven hundred Golden Plovers, some coming into summer colour, and Lapwings on short turf where moles try to turn the earth inside out - scores of crumbly heaps of soil pushed towards the Spring-promising sun. Beyond hundreds of Starlings pick at the same field and beyond again Black-headed Gulls move on as the plough approaches.
Suddenly the waders lift and flash in the sun: the plovers' wings sharp and fast - glinting knives, the Lapwings on wide wings - black and white. They all settle quickly after the false alarm as a Kestrel wobbles on a wire above them.
Above a fleet sun slips from sliding clouds and breaks to blind. Heather, brown and brittle, and frosted bracken cloak the hills. Only Red Grouse skim the contours - running from fire - the smoke in four ribbons above the burn.
Below in greener fields beginning to grow beyond the snowdrop crowded verges, flocks rove. Fieldfares and Starlings strut and hop, then jump for the sky in a crowd. Hundreds of birds spiral as a Crow-harrassed Buzzard tilts towards the wood.
The wind, channelled up a steep valley whistles through the beeches as a Great-spotted Woodpecker climbs.
Further on and a flock of Lapwings and Curlews, recently returned, probe soft earth. But on flatter fields the flocks are huge: seven hundred Golden Plovers, some coming into summer colour, and Lapwings on short turf where moles try to turn the earth inside out - scores of crumbly heaps of soil pushed towards the Spring-promising sun. Beyond hundreds of Starlings pick at the same field and beyond again Black-headed Gulls move on as the plough approaches.
Suddenly the waders lift and flash in the sun: the plovers' wings sharp and fast - glinting knives, the Lapwings on wide wings - black and white. They all settle quickly after the false alarm as a Kestrel wobbles on a wire above them.
Last edited:
