THE CALDER isn’t at its highest but, with a month’s rain forecast for the next 36
hours in adjacent areas of north-west England, it might rise further. It’s now washing
over the boat-shaped bridge piers. Looking down on the frothing water rushing past
was like being on a high-speed catamaran.
The grey squirrel is at it again; when I look out over the garden I see its bushy
tail wafting around our veg beds. It plunders peanuts from our next door neighbours,
in fact they tell me its looks in their patio window when they fall behind with supplies,
but I think it also buries acorns in our garden from the the oak tree in the next
garden but one.
I potted up a little oak seedling that had grown near the raspberries this summer.
As I was on the phone this morning, looking out of the studio window across the valley,
a heron glided over the treetops then swooped unhurriedly down to the stream in the
wood. I don’t know if it was a result of the atmospheric perspective of the misty
grey morning light, or the ponderous flight, but it appeared to be even larger than