Harrier? Deergrass and alder and rowan, and roe deer strutting behind them, and wrens everywhere yapping and hidden, and grass of Parnassus spread, dull meadowsweet dead for the year: lead your mind back and re-follow that trail down from the fields and the fit, frit pheasants, to loop past carr and the oil-slickened water it hung in, retting, gouged through the front as autumn was carving and taking off summer – paler sun, sharper wind, too-soon dusk reminding us we’d miles to go and time was shortening. Years ago.
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