Last night I stood by the river around 9pm and watched as the bats came out, the sky is a deep purpley blue against the skinny black outline of the copse that clusters on the bank of the river. It makes for a dramatic silhouette. The water bubbled and I could hear paddling, crunching and rustling in the banks again. Still no actual sight of the otter this year but I'm certain its there in the shadows creating those big rippling rings of water that catch the light in the dark.
This morning was windy across the fields, bitter in the sun. Poplar farms roof had a silver glint in the low morning sun and as always the red bricks of the hunt kennels made their presence known in the distance. The howl of the hounds is a constant in the background.
Looking through the hedge at the end of the field a lamb helps himself to the food bucket, completely oblivious to my calls for him to look up. Their shiny red tractor makes such an idyllic scene.
Just a glance down from this greedy little lamb is the dead fox in the ditch. I'm curious about its death. Was it starvation, a knock by a car or just old age. Or Murder?
Maybe it was gassed by the fumes of the bonfire when we burnt the clippings from the ditch clearance?
In contrast to the city, seeing a fox is still a rare delight in the countryside, especially when alive.