The great millstone of the year grinds round, and we once again enter the dark days when the sparrows witter on their leafless twigs. It's much easier to find them that way. That may be why, when everyone else is sinking into the gloom, I feel more tail-lashingly frisky, more glowing-coal alert, hungrier than ever for furred and feathered victims.
I am looking out of my den now at a sky of pale blue, glaring and tinged with a grimy horizon. Daylight will soon become dusk and the hour to hunt. I will exhale a hiss of relief.
No comments:
Post a Comment