We heard a commotion outside yesterday evening, with dozens of birds scattering, and with one flying into the dining room window in blind panic. This morning, I found a mass of feathers on the lawn by the bird-feeder. The remains of a collared dove, by the look of it. Prime suspect: a sparrowhawk.
Jen had taken the day off work, so we took a trip to Bridestones Moor to look at its eponymous rocks. Unforecast drizzle began as soon as we arrived. Jen hates drizzle. I took a few hasty grab-photos, and was unexpectedly pleased with the results. Must return there soon for a proper photo-session.
“…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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