The old railtrack, morning

The canopy of the woods is thick with bird sound, woodpeckers whir like ratchets from tree after tree.  A flock of tits accompanies us for a while, chiding and chivvying.

Approach to Bogard, afternoon.

The Morse code call, and looking up I see two nuthatches high in the poplars.  I crane my neck uncomfortably, but fear to change position in case I lose them.

The old railtrack, Gare de Moncontour, late afternoon

There are icicles, perhaps a metre long, hanging where the springs trickle down over the rocks and tree roots.  Despite the lowering light, they seem to possess an inner luminescence.