Thursday 14 May 2015

Every Mole Is Thunderbird 2 In Its Dreams

It would have been ungrateful to ask for a better morning. The sun was taking its time about clearing up the early mist and the light ground frost, because it had all day ahead of it.

I was out with the camera looking for the hares I'd seen dancing in the field next to the lock, the day before. I mentioned it to a hire boater; he put on that voice that Middle Class Men Of A Certain Type adopt when talking to someone they think is a loony or a member of the working class, and said "Oh! I must keep an eye out for them..." His loss.

No hares, but a dead mole lying on the bridge. I wondered how it had come to an end there; but it was saying nothing. I perched it on the bridge parapet and photographed it. I'd have taken it home to draw it but there were some tiny insects crawling on it, and I wondered if they might be mole ticks or something similar. After my deer tick experience some years ago, I was being cautious. 

I went back later, and the mole was gone.

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