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Two buzzards and a primrose

January 6, 2019


Early in the New Year, we walk out
above Torre Abbey, crossing fields
of green corduroy. We follow the

ribbed curve towards the copse – young
oaks, bare beneath the winter blue,
inviting light-limbed climbers. Beyond

the witches’ pond, our first buzzard
watches – for rabbits perhaps? We
amble on, skirting the field’s western

edge, stopping only to look up. An aircraft
buzz – more high summer than winter
and the only sound we hear. Until, wide

wings crack open on a slow glide behind
the hill. Turning, we climb left, scanning
for another. Instead, a pheasant sits frozen

mid field. For minutes, it’s motionless
and we wonder. Your dog dodges left, but
to the right a second buzzard swoops our

path – silent, mud brown, leading the way.
Climbing the double stile, we circle back,
glimpse at our feet the first primrose,

its face pale in the gloaming.

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