All On The Doorstop

There were hares all over the place when I walked out late this evening, but not in the fields. As I marched down the lane a big thumper, slightly threadbare but so large I thought at first it was a muntjack, came cantering up the hill towards me. I stopped, he stopped, and then he came on and I thought for a moment he was going to lollop straight past me. But he realised I wasn't a tree, and turned on his heel. It was such an odd encounter, to be so close to a hare on the road, that I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd spoken to me. "Nice evening, thought I'd stretch me legs. You from round here?" No sooner had he disappeared than another hare, much younger this time, slimmer too, came towards me and got even closer before it halted. I froze, enchanted, and he came nearer to within just a few feet, narrow face and head twitching slightly as he tried to work me out. After a few thrilling seconds he jerked away and was off down the lane. But there were more of them in the verges and hedgerows, crossing and recrossing the tarmac, and I wondered if it was a special night. The sun was a crimson globe just above the horizon by the time I got home, and the sky was flushed pink. Maybe it was too pretty an evening for them to ignore too.

Earlier I'd watched the wind ripple through the barley field below my study window. It's a very strange sensation, like viewing the sea but knowing it's not water. The field changed rapidly from light green to pale gold as the breeze set it in constant motion, swirling backwards and forwards, up and down at a giddying speed. I felt quite dizzy watching, telling myself it was just a field of barley while my eyes could see otherwise: a stormy ocean maybe, or an agitated inland loch. It looked almost treacherous, but was as benign as a lawn. Apparently that field, my nearest, used to grow only vegetables, and last year it was a mass of peas. What luck that Farmer Alys has changed the pattern.

This doesn't really capture the effect

Van Gogh knew what I meant