On Thursday, I stepped outside the front door to be greeted by the 'whoosh' of a low-flying flock of Starlings, weaving their way around the rooftops in a high speed commute to who-knows-where. Arriving at work, my attention was grabbed by a group of Fieldfares, 'chack'-ing as they flew from bare tree tops to fallow meadow.
This evening, a gibbous moon glowed in a corona of high cloud, casting an eerie light across a still, windless landscape. Fallen leaves sat motionless on the dry ground, their brittle beauty seemingly reluctant to make any sound lest they disturb the quietness.
A faint trace of wood smoke tainted the air, flavouring the dusk with the promise of warmth indoors. I took the hint and headed homewards, to be regaled by tales of more robust weather further north.
4 comments:
Very poetic.
When do you finally head north?
Just waiting on the slow wheels of process to creak around. Hopefully before Christmas. If the Cairngorms are passable and the ferry hasn't been cancelled!
Somehow, I'm reminded of Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening". Are you feeling a little cold with the Lass so far away?
[Pauses to carry out an internet search] Don't think I'm in the same league as Robert Frost (inadvertent pun?), but thanks!
And you had to remind my chilled soul. Oh woe is me :o(
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