Above Arondel, walking Moos with Mol.

The largest parasol is ten inches across.  They snake across the field, actually in a wide arc, only the visible emergence of the mighty web of mycelium under the ground.

Up the road, afternoon.

An initially unidentifiable smell of cider, then I see the small crooked wilding apple tree on the bank has dropped its yield in the ditch, where it is gently fermenting.

Down the road, late afternoon (Saturday).

Dark brooding green swirls in the wind in the heart of Marcelle's spruce tree, while the last marigolds glow like dying embers below.  We'll be happy to be home tonight.

Up the road, afternoon.

We swallow gulps of wind with appreciation.  The crowds of starlings gust about the field like blown leaves, while blown leaves dashing across the road look themselves like living things.

Trédaniel plan d'eau, morning.

A green woodpecker, all olive, lime and crimson, with a head like a power tool, starts up from the grass.  Supposedly a starling-sized bird, close up it seems much bigger.

Down the road, early evening.

Crackling maize stems, scattered cobs, chickweed and stalks of cabbages the cows ate straight from the field, all is grist by the ploughs and turned to an even chocolate tilth.

Up the road, afternoon.

Earth and air are moist and cold, but flooded with light.  Woodsmoke and the smell of fresh-turned earth, as  tractors with great bladed ploughs dance ponderously.

 A flock of lapwings.