Field Notes: A September Morning

A September Morning

September mornings have a particular light.

Low and golden, glowing through the branches, catching on the grasses which are lying flat and heavy with dew.

Blackbirds calling to each other.

Crows arguing somewhere amongst the treetops.

I stop and scour the usual haunts for deer and hares.

Nothing.

Although, of course, that doesn't mean they're not there.

A distant cockerel announces the morning.

A lone kite circles high above the fields, barely moving its wings.

Blackberry branches are heavy with fruit.

A reminder that I must come back with a suitable basket.

The fields shimmer in the sunlight.

The first shoots of winter barley are already pushing through, bright green and glistening.

Above them, a brilliant blue sky crossed by thin white contrails.

And for a little while, nothing much needs to happen.

Just noticing.