halftwo
Wird Batcher
Air, treacly and still, sticking warm and honeyed from the heat of the day. The setting sun still fiery low against the burnished and brassy land, languishing in the afterglow from the summer's blast.
Hay, pungent in the heat, lying thick and growing pale in the fields, the cut and fallow contrasting as shadows stretched and filled. A Brown Hare on hind legs, long ears like long wooden boats aloft, watches warily on the rise.
Butterflies began to give way to moths, and the legs of the copse show beneath the see-through skirt revealed by the low sun resting in the nook of the hill. The wheeze of a lamb like the sneeze of a Snipe squeaks from the meadow.
Young Curlews, calling, drop into roost fields where Rooks hunch in bunches, their gleaning done for the day. Stock doves fly to night perches, Swallows skim the pale sky, and a Kestrel's silhouette passes along the ridge.
On the water a single Great crested grebe drifts to cover as Lesser black-backs settle for the night. Seven Oystercatchers slope down to the bank and dissolve in the fading light.
Warm walls and standing stones by the track: one painted by a Barn owl's splash, white flowers beginning to glow in the twilight.
A Grey Partridge calls from the ditch and the low moan of a Tawny owl herald the night. Bats zip by in the near dark - fast and jagged over the walls and into the now dark fields.
And last, before the last light leaks away and ink fills the hollows, the stubby shape of a Little owl shows above the wall and takes the remains of the day as it blurs out into the night.
Hay, pungent in the heat, lying thick and growing pale in the fields, the cut and fallow contrasting as shadows stretched and filled. A Brown Hare on hind legs, long ears like long wooden boats aloft, watches warily on the rise.
Butterflies began to give way to moths, and the legs of the copse show beneath the see-through skirt revealed by the low sun resting in the nook of the hill. The wheeze of a lamb like the sneeze of a Snipe squeaks from the meadow.
Young Curlews, calling, drop into roost fields where Rooks hunch in bunches, their gleaning done for the day. Stock doves fly to night perches, Swallows skim the pale sky, and a Kestrel's silhouette passes along the ridge.
On the water a single Great crested grebe drifts to cover as Lesser black-backs settle for the night. Seven Oystercatchers slope down to the bank and dissolve in the fading light.
Warm walls and standing stones by the track: one painted by a Barn owl's splash, white flowers beginning to glow in the twilight.
A Grey Partridge calls from the ditch and the low moan of a Tawny owl herald the night. Bats zip by in the near dark - fast and jagged over the walls and into the now dark fields.
And last, before the last light leaks away and ink fills the hollows, the stubby shape of a Little owl shows above the wall and takes the remains of the day as it blurs out into the night.
