Thursday, 28 June 2012

The World Keeps Turning

Sultry day, the strident trill of a wren cuts through the air like a knife.  Banded demoiselles flap lazily by the river or perch on the grass, occasionally taking to the wing for a desultory dog fight.  Had a long philosophical chat with the farmer.  He thinks the land will go to developers, he doesn't want it to happen any more than I do, but he has no choice.  He has worked there all his life and remembers the days when it took five men all night to achieve what now takes him a couple of hours in a tractor, no wonder there are so few jobs.

The house martins are still collecting mud from their puddle, the word keeps turning...

No comments:

Post a Comment