My sunset chill out by the fire as my dinner heats up
and I have a few minutes to myself after a busy day.
I couldn't help but wish that it had never changed, that I could see it as it was, but alas, 'tis not so. The woods, pockets of ancient woodland no less, clinging on, ignored by farmers who, no longer allowed to grub them out, and unable to measure their yield in tonnes per acre, have lost interest. Are these perhaps our best chance of pretending that landscape of distant memory still remains? Possibly, which is why I will keep visiting and working there, and pretending in my spare moments that a bear or moose may interrupt me one day.
Thanks Mr MacFarlane for sparking those few minutes of enjoyable reflection that day; I am enjoying your book.