Racing the rain home
The sky many varieties of grey. A brisk walk along the sunken lane with Charm - very brisk indeed, the Old Girl was in marching mood. Destination: anywhere the grass grows. By this time of year the ponies are getting desperate for the sweet spring grass to arrive, and are grumpy and impatient, like a 19th century gentleman of fixed habits whose dinner has been much delayed.
The first celandines and primroses in flower on the sheltered banks. Chaffinches and wrens singing. A single tentative burst of skylark song in a field beside the road. But overhead bare oak branches stirring in the rising wind. The cloud descending. A hurried retracing of our steps with the scent of rain in the air.
Made it back to the field just as the rain started.
The first celandines and primroses in flower on the sheltered banks. Chaffinches and wrens singing. A single tentative burst of skylark song in a field beside the road. But overhead bare oak branches stirring in the rising wind. The cloud descending. A hurried retracing of our steps with the scent of rain in the air.
Made it back to the field just as the rain started.