Occasional Scribbles

I take myself and Skinny off for a walk through the giant fields that lie near our house. The sun is comfortingly warm and the soothing breeze blows away unhappy thoughts.  I listen carefully as Skinny and I walk down through the track, to a multitude of little voices, chattering away, singing, pipping and quarelling high up in the sky and over the fields.  The whispering wind coaxes me along, soothing my soul, softly bending my psyche.

Bright red poppies that populate the hedgerows, spill across the green corn fields like pretty ribbons, their colour strong and glorious against young emerald ears. Two Siskins sit atop two ears, caught momentarily as they balance on the tips, swaying slightly.  They look around with high vantage to see Skinny racing between the neat rows as she gives chase to a Pheasant hen she has disturbed from her nest.  I look lazily at the scene content in the knowledge that this game has been played before and Skinny will be the loser.

Too early, I note for the Swallows.  They swoop at dusk, diving and skimming the air above the rich fields, pointed tails stark against the sky, then gleaming and shimmering as the sun catches dark blue wings, twisting and turning.

Large stripey Bumble Bees, bright yellow and black, seek out the dipping heads of the wanton flowers, humming happily, they carry out their task.  Sweet smells and plentiful bounty, knees heavy with bright pollen, they weave their way from one lovely bloom to the next.  Such infinite variety, yet designed with utmost care.

I watch Skinny affectionately, see her delight and happy disposition as she checks her usual haunts, focused on the important matter at hand, oblivious to all else.  Her honey coat will afford her cover when the corn turns golden.  Soon she will be a shadow of speed and daring.  I feel the ghosts of others at her shoulder, willing her along to share the adventure.

Home.  Skinny sleeps and dreams.