Where the canal broadens out, a large flock of Canada Geese
float on the water. A heron, hunched on a low-hanging alder branch, turns his
back on them. Cock robins, pert and handsome, stake out their territories in
the hawthorn hedge. They count me out along the towpath, and count me back in
again – I might be up to no good. Stealing crab apples, perhaps, or gathering
in holly for a Christmas wreath.
As I turn for home the geese take off, in groups of twenty
or more, yapping and barking. They are following
the last of the day’s sunlight, heading for the mill lodge hidden behind the
hill.
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