So go the faraway sounds of shotguns.
Sounds that echo against the village valley walls
And bounce around the Church, now silent without its vicar.
It's a common background to most Sundays here.
A weekend playtime for " country folk "
Dorothy and I are sat in the graveyard.
Well I am sat
She is crouching
And we both are waiting for the
Pupupupups to stop.
She is watching me carefully and because I seem confident
She is becoming braver at the sound of gun fire
Albert joins us and butts his head against hers
It's the first official greeting I have seen between the two
His natural confidence boosting her fearfulness in spades
And in typical bulldog style she sniffs at his bottom with some gusto
I notice that the colours of the graveyard trees are beginning to warm.
And I photograph the most colourful of them as the faraway shotguns continue to blast away
Dorothy and I do another circuit around the church with Albert following us at an angle
He is obviously pretending that it was the way he originally intended to go.
Cats have a strange pride about them