The sounds of the countryside drip feed the subconscious soul through the day, and night.
Bird song punctuated with the cry of our cockerels shares ear space with the radio or some music from somewhere else in the house. The soundtrack of Great Burrow.
A tractor rumbles past.
At night the owls compete with and beat the tele. I mute the TV, open a window and stare blindly into the dark towards the oak tree. A hoot is aimed right at me, from close range. Does it know I can’t see it?
It’s mid April and time to start sharpening up the ears for a Dartmoor cuckoo. I’ve heard one before just the once; enough to know it’s a possibility, however slim.
I have to trust that my subconscious will be up to the job… that I wont miss it in the rushing around, should it decide to come by.