I woke and through the curtains caught the muffled light. It looked and felt like snow, there was that orangey glow to the sky, but I thinking “its April now” turned over and went back to sleep. Later I drew back the curtains and stared out at the snowy, icy landscape outside. I felt annoyed at this intrusion into spring. Of course I know that it snows, often long after winter has gone, the infamous cricket match in June springs to mind. Illogical to feel so angry, like shouting at the wind to stop, as a winter storm plucks at the roof tiles and taunts me whistling through the gaps in the windows.
Later, after work, I stood by a tree looking up towards Stakeside and watching a female Sparrow hawk hunting smaller birds, darting through the trees, as sleet stung and needled my face. Somewhere near by the reluctant Weasel was lurking, lured away from Tele and hassled into warm clothes to join me, “The Fresh air will do you good”. Earlier we had watched a pair of Buzzards being mobbed by angry Ravens and searched for Dippers along the rocky stream.
As we drove home over the bleak moors near Derbyshire Bridge, I stopped to show her the Grouse butts, and on cue a Grouse stalking the long grasses, I needed binoculars to see it clearly but she had her younger sharper eyes.
Home, as the sleet turned to rain, and into the warm glow of lights and mugs of tea. I talked to Mrs BW about the things we’d seen; the Weasel had TV to watch.