To The Farm

You know it’s chilly when your breath condenses and rises; you know it’s a touch too cold when it condenses and sinks. At three in the afternoon the sky was deep cobalt, but smudged with newsprint inky clouds. Snow seemed an inevitability but it never came. Instead, as we walked, we found brilliant blinding sunshine…

Down by the sewage farm, where the water never freezes, a Green Sandpiper stalked the beds like a giant wagtail. This used to be a shoo-in for Grey Wagtail but there hasn’t been one here in recent years. If it’s a straight species-for-species swap, I think I’ll take the sandpiper, thanks.