There was a gap between weather warnings again today, as the rain cleared and the wind dropped and I nipped up to the garden to take advantage of the lull. The photo looks peaceful, but what you can’t hear are the fighter planes that were carving up the sky – impossible to capture in a photo because they’re so fast and they’re never quite where you think they’re going to be from the sound. We’re used to them using our relatively empty corner of the world for training flights, but it reminded me of the debate going on in Parliament as I write; no escape even here from the drumbeat of war.
Coming out of the gate with the wheelbarrow for another load of muck, I was lucky enough to glimpse another low-flying engine of death: a sparrowhack flashing past barely at knee height, intent on the hunt. Seen close to like that, in flight, it’s a brutal and powerful-looking bird and everything in the woods falls silent at its approach. Everything except our own death-dealing flying machines.
Does it make me a terrorist sympathiser to wish that we could not go to war?