Early morning walking with long shadows and for the first time in weeks we walk together, Pixie and me and Her, up the green lane to the hill top high.
In the lane much has changed, though emerald green still clings in places, winter's hand has touched the blackthorn trees.
On top of the hill it is cold. The wind bites and Bella shelters Pixie from the chill. Light falls across the land in bright islands. Bones of small creatures are scattered here and there, bleached white by wind and weather, once a feast for crows and ravens. And the greatest raven still circles overhead and calls across the sky.