All
those who talk Spring up as the only season of birth and renewal, behold what
the advent of Autumn and a few inches of rain do to the Hill. A beautiful
pale green carpet sprouts overnight (and the pine needles turn a brilliant
emerald from their usual drab grayish-green, and the box sprouts new shoots,
and even the leaves on the deciduous trees recover some colour before going
golden and being shed for the winter).
The wildlife becomes
more active, too. Yesterday, as I was checking the coq au vin gently simmering in
the oven and pouring a glass of Douro red for lunch, the call of a buzzard
sounded much closer than usual, causing me to look up just in time to catch one
streaking past my window not 50 feet from where I stood.
Later, as I left in
the scooter for my German lesson, there it was, perched on the woodshed. Apparently
a juvenile, clearly unused to humans and machinery, bobbing and weaving
hesitatingly, unsure of whether we were friend or foe. In the end it defiantly stood
its ground, letting me ride quietly by without taking to the air. When I looked
back just before exiting the gate it was still there, poised and regal, proudly
having conquered another new challenge in its young life.
Mega, as kids say.
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