Three of us walk through the fields of young crops, along muddy footpaths. Four miles in, and I’m hungry. We look for a suitable spot to park ourselves – there’s a mound with trees, and a couple of stumps. That’ll do.
Our backs are to the wind, and I change my ‘buff’ to balaclava. A biscuit or two. Coffee fresh from the flask.
This field is full of sheep and tiny lambs. Lots of them are lying down. The chill must have come as a shock after the warmth of the week gone by.
Perhaps this mound is an ancient burial mound, we joke – more likely a folly to entertain the family at the Hall close by. We wander over to look for an entrance. A hollow tree draws us – a magnet for children and the curious. Inside there’s a tiny corpse – a lamb. We feel sad for a life so short.
a few months
to gambol in green fields
before the table