|A single light through the graveyard|
In winter, there is one small perk you can hold on to when looking after a ragtag group of animals on a village field, and that is they dont generally wake up and need caring for until dawn.
Dawn presently does not rear it's ugly head until 8 ish, so me and the terriers have gotten use to a small, warm lie in with no interruptions!
Things now have changed.
With Chris and I sharing the car, I do have to drag my sorry arse out of bed at some ungodly hour to take him to the station, so at 6.45am I was back in a darkened village twiddling my thumbs before "Reveille"
All over the village lights are on and people can be seen getting ready for work. There is little to no employment in the village itself (Only one villager actually works in the school), so the morning commute out is a common one. Traffic is already brusk on London road, and a steady stream of lights snake along the A5151 towards the A55...the only major road out of North Wales.
It's still pitch black when I walk the sleepy terriers around the village. The lights are on in Auntie Glad's kitchen and I suspect the aga is already boiling water for her first tea of the day, but I can't see her as I pass
Mrs Trellis and her excitable sheepdog dart up High Street and thankfully out of our way and someone waves at me from a car pulling out of Maes Offa,, but without my glasses I don't have a clue who it is , so I wave back vaguely.
By the time we return to the cottage, dawn is just peeping through the clouds beyond the rectory.
The animals are still silent, the pigs are asleep still in their hut.
As we pass, the three guinea fowl chirp gently from their advantage point high above the field. On sentry duty, they recognise me and William stands for a moment trying to locate where their almost inaudible calls are coming from.
|Look carefully, the three guinea fowl roosting quietly|