As I let out the geese this morning, a solitary heron flew ponderously across the field letting out the occasional mournful croak. We stood and watched (the geese apparently mesmerised by the noise) while a couple of officious crows escorted him out of their airspace.
Dog and I walked the woods later, the gloomy light and damp atmosphere underlining the autumnal mood:falling leaves; empty fields (the bullocks have disappeared sometime in the last week or so); the remaining large straw bales beginning to sink lopsidedly into the damp ground, no longer a golden yellow but faded to a pale browny beige, with the odd pair of disconsolate crows perched on top, slightly hunched like the vultures in Jungle Book.
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