THERE were more pinkfeet high over Downholland Moss, but not as many as yesterday.
Then the sky was full as they had been scared off a field. Rising into the air, they wheel until they form into a battalion of V-shaped skeins and then set off in search of new fields to conquer.
I always enjoy watching the geese when they have been roused, as they create chaos for a few minutes and them somehow order pours out of the cloud of birds.
Their flight is one of winter's pleasures and it is also a joy to hear them calling in the dark when they return late at night, perhaps shadows flitting across the sky or silhouetted against the moon if it is out.
Having said that, though, there was not a lot of see on the moss this morning.
Music on the moss: a touch of the albino bombshell that is Johnny Winter, on an early release that included good Texas blues as well as soul music, rock and a dreadful Dylan impression. Every LP has one [a duff track that is, not a Dylan impression]!
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