We live on the outskirts of the village, next to a farm.
Yesterday, all afternoon, the young farmer ploughed his field.
He went up and down his paddock, stopping at our boundary to turn around and go again. Behind his tractor a line of curved steel blades sliced through the dung-brown clods and a roller of sharp-toothed discs broke the soil down further.
A flock of egrets followed the tractor, in a feeding frenzy.
They rushed forward and plunged their long, yellow beaks into the dirt, then scattered in a flurry of wings as the tractor turned. They regrouped, rushing in again, then took flight to catch up to the tractor once more.
The farmer worked til early evening, and resumed after dinner, the lights of his tractor we could see through our french doors.
No comments:
Post a Comment