Down near Willie's ancient wool shed there is herd of young lady coos and even though I was stood quite a long way from their fence and gate, they all wandered down to say hello. I sang them a nursery rhyme and a few songs from The Sound of Music. It was deeply appreciated - I think.
The sheep are shyer and less inquisitive and keep a safe distance, serenaded only by love struck pheasant, of which our Fernando is one. I don't know how many pheasant there on the road, but there is enough flapping and coughing to make me think at least a dozen. Aunty Betty, my late Grand Aunt would have loved it here. She was notorious for hiding pheasant chicks from the local laird, to stop them being shot in the hunt!
I continue to be entranced by the wild flowers left to grow abundantly and passionately in the hedgerows. There are enough buttercups, foxgloves and dandelion to cover a county. The field verges host snoozing daisies and ducks, who protest loudly when you interrupt their 40 winks (the ducks that is, not the daisies).
Through morning hours, without a pause
The dandelions with bold intent
Burn in the emerald firmament
And seek to counterfeit the stars
John Richard Moreland
