This evening I am walking down the local farm footpaths in the late sunshine. It’s quiet along the paths today – I suspect given the fine weather this weekend, most people have headed for the beaches, so I hardly meet anyone along the way. A tiny wren sings from the branch of a hawthorn bush, unusually not ducking away as I pass by but remaining in full view. Underneath the shrubs, a female blackbird is rummaging for material to build a nest, picking out bits of dead grass. Swallows are darting over the fields, the evening light gleaming in flecks of blue on their iridescent wings.
The far end of the path is quiet and the breeze blows softly through the oilseed plants that have sprung up in every inch of waste ground. Goldfinches twitter as they flit from one sprig to the next. I round a corner near a hedge and make out something heading towards me, skirting the edge of a pile of hay bales – a fox. Its fur seems in good condition and is a deep rusty brown. I am downwind, and the fox notices me quickly. We stare at each other, but I don’t want to move closer as it will likely turn tail. Deciding to act nonchalant, to show it I’m not a threat, I turn away, and use the opportunity to check if anyone else is approaching, but when I turn back, the fox has vanished. I walk closer to where it has been standing and continue along on my route past the hedgerow that it must have disappeared into, but nothing stirs as I pass.
Nearing the end of the walk now and coming back into view of the closest houses, I find that a young rabbit is sat on the path just around the next bend. It spots me, and hops into the shelter of another patch of oilseed, but doesn’t disappear straight away, relaxed enough to start nibbling on the plants again, sitting up on its haunches to reach something higher up. I cut off the last corner of the path so that I don’t disturb it. Above, an ominous cloud is looming, so dark it is almost purple, and I turn to head home.
Moments of Nature 