Thursday, November 28, 2013
What's done cannot be undone.
Out early with Bob. The ground coated hard with frost. Overhead the frigid air from the Atlantic battling it out with the warm air from North Africa. Something matchless about this winter daybreak. The sky as stratified as any rock formation - pink and ochre and grey and blue. The sort of morning you want to breath deep.
The sub zero temperatures have brought the deer out in search of food. Ten or so standing at the crossroads. More in the beech copse by the stream. Bob is on high alert, straining at the leash. He sees the movement of the deer long before I do. The occasional excited whimper - " I could catch them ". ' In your dreams ' I find myself saying out loud.
The mayor is also up early. He's removing the Armistice Day wreaths from the war memorial. We chat about driving licenses. He can't issue them but the town hall in the little market town probably can. Half a dozen deer suddenly leap over the churchyard wall and gallop, a moving thicket of legs, across the village green and down the lane. Such a simple sight but such a privilege to watch.