Lark Rise in Cransford

I was woken this morning by the sound of horses going past my house, hooves ringing on the tarmac. I came to briefly, noted what I was hearing, and promptly returned to sleep only to include them in my dream. I was trying to smuggle a woman with children out of some bad place - it was unspecified and unclear where it was but the job was urgent. The children were pale and listless, and the converyance in which I had hidden them was airless and very hot. I hitched the vehicle to a horse when the engine failed, and was urging it up a steep hill while its feet kept slipping and skidding backwards. My anxiety was growing unbearably, and when we finally reached the top of the incline I looked inside to check on the children but they weren't moving and .... I woke up with a jerk. Horrible dream! Where does this stuff come from?

Larks soared all day above the barley field yesterday, rising so high that at one point I couldn't even see them with the binos. They are bursting with joy, though on a sunny, still day who isn't? Their song is continuous, compelling, and to listen to them is to smile with pleasure. They nest on the ground where the crops conceal their babies, and maybe they feel safe now because I haven't seen a magpie for several days. When I could still focus on their flight I noticed that they seemed to spiral upwards and then hover, fluttering, for several minutes, singing all the time. It's an amazing feat of flight and stamina.

I came face to face with a big old rat last night, my second in as many months. It was the sort of evening when you just couldn't be indoors, still light at 9.30 when I'd eaten my meal and succeeded in knocking a spatula covered in food onto the floor, scattering the mess far and wide. I strolled down the lane, wandered into the field, sat outside the summerhouse, just being part of the lovely day. It was the first really warm evening when no jacket was needed. Just across the lane from me was the rat, and we both stood still and watched each other for a bit. It was a mangy thing with a stunted tail, and it didn't look as if it could run away if it tried. There's nothing like coming face to face with your worst fears, and feeling them dissolve. It wasn't a lovely thing, but it wasn't terrifying either. Country rats are probably different from urban ones: they aren't fresh out of sewers, and they don't have a cunning, desperate look about them. Eventually I moved, and it turned and disappeared into the ditch. I walked on into the night.