I opened the curtains at Dad’s first thing this morning to find a male sparrowhawk perched on top of the bird-feeder with its back to me. Such angular birds, especially across the shoulders: the stealth fighters of the avian world.
Back in Yorkshire, I found three more furniture beetles on the frame of the large mirror in the downstairs loo. Like God (if JBS Haldane’s famous inference was correct), I have an inordinate fondness for beetles. But woodworm is intolerable: thanks to our lazy predecessors, we lost our previous dining room floor to the vile grubs. I squashed the three latest offenders, and added woodworm treatment to the shopping list.
“…wonderfully droll, witty and entertaining… At their best Carter’s moorland walks and his meandering intellectual talk are part of a single, deeply coherent enterprise: a restless inquiry into the meaning of place and the nature of self.”
—Mark Cocker, author and naturalist
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