A clear, bright day, the sky full of lapwings, curlew and skylark. The lapwings ‘peewit’ as they swoop and dive. Along Edge Lane to Reaps Cross, looking over towards Widdop and northwards. Wide open space on the tops, still some snow on the dark heather moorland and pale blonde, late winter grass. Bitterly cold.
After the snow, murky, misty, damp day, the air full of flies, the swallows have arrived and are flying low. The curlews calling as they fly over, the legend of the seven whistlers; six unidentified birds were said to call constantly during their search for a seventh.
Deer barking in the woods and running alongside me, high up. I stop at the edge, still, while they watch, then quietly move off. The field silent with tracks.
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