It’s flocking time of year. The last grain crops are gathered in; between the stubble-stalks pigeons feast and fatten on the gleanings. Goldfinches loop and twitter in an easterly breeze, bellies gold with autumn sun. In the forest, streams and waterfalls are bright, blue, chilly. Leaves scatter at our feet, tack down air, come to roost in our hair. Yesterday a goshawk flew over; later a doe and fawn froze and peered, then fled. My windowsills are lined with orange squashes from our Devon garden. Midnight in the hamlet. Two dogfoxes bark and growl.
Making home in starry night.
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