Sunday 6 0 clock, February pitch black. Off to the park.
I like the dark evenings the smells change different animals are at large and I get strong smells of the fox – my favourite. One day I will catch him.
We get to the stone balustrade and pack leader (in his imagination only you understand!) looks over as usual to see if he catch a glimpse of the heron on the little promintory.
It’s gone, completely under water, and no heron.
The little wooden bridge normally 7 or 8 feet above the water has it lapping against it and beyond the big meadow looks a dark lake just shining in the moon.
I must check this out – it’s only shallow. Time for some larks a flat out sprint straight across it – water splashing up my sides.
Then the eccentric woman with the five red setters appears and we all sprint around like crazy things (not the woman though she is definitely not a sprinter she progresses in a more stately manner).
So much fun. So wet, so hungry, so strange.