There’s a sea of birds, waving to and fro, cresting, rolling over and flowing back.
Watching feels like flying, sensations of swaying, swooping, rising to the heights – teetering to an almost-stop – diving down, stomach sinking, but more exhilarating and pleasurable than uncomfortable.
Like watching a rollercoaster on film, from the point of view of sitting in one of the seats on board – all the sensations, but gentler, without the abrupt fears and stomach lurching.
Now there are buzzards, spiralling up on a thermal, gliding lazily, then swooping downwards suddenly, crash-landing with all the elegance of a brick, into a tree.
And now a kestrel flies, hovers, darts across the sky, hovers again, then dives to ground stunning its prey.
All this is outside my window.
Tomorrow, very early, we shall start again, with deer peeping out of the edge of the forest,
Then the three horses chasing each other up and down over the hillside, and
One fine day I will dash outside and join them. I will run and dance and play and fly away.