North Stoke,West Sussex A large, black brown hen harrier, and with slender wings and white rump,swoops down the valleyThe hill is eerily quiet on this wet afternoon, after the game shoot of the day before. Yesterday the fields rang with the crack-crack of guns. But today the butts are empty, and the fields silent. The only noise is the drop of the rain on the ground and hedges.
Water flows down the slippery chalk path. Up ahead,low cloud shrouds the trees at the top of the hill. I reach a gate and look out across the valley. A dozen grey partridges sit on the mud in the open, just a few yards absent, or totally oblivious ((adj.) lacking consciousness or awareness of something) to my presence. Perhaps the sound of the rain disguised my approach. Related: The mystery of the missing hen harriers | Patrick Barkham Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com