The Hares, the Stubble Fields and the Passing of Time…

Cooler today.

More cloud.

The sound of combines working across the fields.

Raucous crows calling overhead.

The soft susurration of wind moving through the trees.

Two hares chasing each other across the stubble.

I wonder if they’ve noticed me.

They move quickly, playfully, completely absorbed in their own little world. For a moment, I am simply another part of the landscape — a quiet observer sitting with my coffee, watching.

Thistledown floats gently past.

A tiny thing, carried by the breeze.

And yet, somehow, it makes me think about how finite our time is.

How small I am.

My aunt died this week, aged 93, and perhaps that is why my thoughts feel a little more reflective than usual. A life lived. Decades of seasons passing. Countless mornings, cups of tea, walks, conversations and ordinary moments that became a lifetime.

It reminds me to pay attention.

To live each moment as best I can.

To notice.

Not overlook.

I find myself wondering — in a hundred years’ time, will someone else be sitting here drinking coffee, watching the hares?

Will they notice the same things?

The changing light.

The sounds of the fields.

The quiet movement of the landscape.

The hares come closer before suddenly veering away towards the copse.

The spell continues.

My eyes wander from the animals to the vegetation around me — the dried stalks and stems left behind in the field. I start to think like an artist.

What colours would I use?

Burnt sienna.

Sepia.

Soft golden ochres.

The muted shades of late summer.

The shadows dance across the stubble, catching the golden highlights as the clouds shift overhead.

I drink the last of my coffee.

Give a small nod to the hares.

And as I stand, the spell is broken.

The moment passes.

I turn and walk home.

But I carry the noticing with me.

P.S. Please excuse the slightly wobbly camera work. My phone was not designed for sneaking up on hares in a field (and neither, it turns out, was I!). The footage is imperfect, but then so are many of the moments that matter most — brief, unexpected, and gone before we can fully capture them.