July (1) - Morning
It was almost a year to the day since I had last stood under a Norfolk sky. As I stepped out of the farmhouse it was not yet mid-summer, though the day was forecast to be hot. The night before I had been lulled into sleep by the sound of Swallows twittering in the long dusk. This morning, despite the early hour, they were up before me. They sat on power lines and fence posts, and darted in and out of the buildings that surrounded the farmhouse. In a straw topped yard black and white cows – White Park Cattle – rustled and pushed their slick wet noses through the fence. In the trees down across the lawn, Wood Pigeons looped through their repeating call, over and over, again and again. Beyond the trees a faint vapour of mist rose from the river. A Black Bird sang from the chimney pot, and off to the side a Tawny Owl watched from the top of a five bar gate before it flew from sight. In the distance I could hear the caw o...