Taexalia

wild.life

Pathworking

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I sit at the desk typing and I am whipped out of my seat by the sight of a Buzzard. It hurtles so close that I think it is going to hit the window and then it switches direction and zig zags out of the garden, a Crow in hot pursuit. I am open mouthed at this drama and laugh as my hand reaches for the camera as if I have any hope of rewinding the moment.

I take it as my cue to get out into the landscape with the Greyhound and see if I can bring something new home.

We choose our favourite route and find some Snowdrops poking up from the dank, brown, dead undergrowth.

Snowdrops

I smile at the timing, given my earlier thoughts.

We pause to take in the sunset - and to consider how much light we have left to get us to the Crow Tree and back... but then walking in the dark only means I cannot see the path...

Sunset

A Heron stalks amongst the long grasses and stands like a statue as we pass by. I wonder what she is hunting as the frost begins to bite.

The Greyhound leads the way as we climb the ridge - he is not dominating or pulling, he is just being a big dog with a long spine and long legs. He is animated by the air, scenting this and sensing that. Each day he tells me a different story about each section of the path and leaves me guessing about what passed most recently.

And then we stop, ears alert, as something thunders uphill amongst the gorse. We do not see a thing but we know, from the tracks and signs we have seen, that we have disturbed Roe Deer. We try to get to the top of the ridge to catch a glimpse of them, but there is nothing to see except the weight of our breath on the air.

We walk on eyes scraping the landscape, always hoping for the sight of a hare. At the edge of the gorse there is an unfamiliar shape, something sits that is not usually there. I squint in the failing light and know it is animal because I have come to know this landscape as my second nature.

I raise my camera and take a photo and I praise my camera, for as rubbish as it is in the failing light, it is clever enough to zoom me in on a blurry fox. I am excited as the fox remains sitting, watching. I know there are foxes here as I have been seeing their signs for months, but these rural foxes are not as easy to glimpse as the ones I knew in my Edinburgh garden... The Greyhound and I continue, slowly, but the fox is wise and slinks off into the gorse with a flick of it's bushy white-tipped tail.

The cold air is hardening things under our feet and we do not pause for long at the Crow Tree. Just as we turn, something moves in the field adjacent to the path. Hare must have watched us, crouching, unseen, as we walked out past it. Hare is taking no chances and launches itself across the field and out of sight as we retrace our steps.

As if we have not seen enough, a pair of Buzzards glide on the last breaths of the day. There is more yet as we leave the shadow of the gorse and the Full Wolf Moon demands an audience.

Full Moon Wolf Moon