A foggy dawn.
It will be ok, I can still see…just.
Onto the marshes.
Skylark song amplified in the damp air,
enclosing us both in the stillness.
Traffic on the main road a world away.
Here I am locked in a shrouded room with just me and the bird song and a barn owl, floating white on white over the tump.
A wet patch of mud.
The hire truck sinks to its axles.
Turn left, turn right, reverse, diff lock on, lock off…. Stuck.
Good and stuck.
Wanting to cry. Suck it up and try to think.
Sedge stuffed under the tyres proves useless.
A long walk back to the road.
Trousers sodden in the damp grass and boots squelching.
A building site, plead my case. Lots of laughter.
What are you doing? A bird survey? What? At this hour? In this weather? On your Own?
Rescued by Dave in a tricked up Land Rover.
A jolly 4×4 hero.
Winched out of the mud, cheers all round.
Dawn, wet, dew, spiders webs, lapwing in the murk, redshank alarming, hot coffee and bananas and all this before 9am.