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8
A Work of Hope
I'm truly sorry Man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion,
Whichmakestheestartle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,
An'fellow-mortal!
Robert Burns
To a Mouse
I woke to the machine-gun rattle of hail on the windscreen. As I raised my
seat, Alan's eyes snapped open. We packed away our lunch and Alan
drove back onto the road, then up a track towards the top of the estate.
As we climbed, the land became bleaker and darker. The frost-scorched
heather was almost black: it looked as if it had been consumed by fire.
We stopped where the road overlooked a little glen in which a few
trees grew. As Alan explained why trees had persisted around the
streams, I noticed a bird soaring up from the far end of the valley. I
was turning away, thinking 'buzzard', when the sun touched the broad
planks of its wings. As it flapped towards us, I stiffened in my seat.
'Look!'
The great shoulders, the heavy head, the stout body dispelled my
remaining doubts. As it crossed the moor, another eagle plunged down
from the sky and dive-bombed it. They rolled over together in the air,
then parted and flew on parallel tracks over our heads: two golden
eagles, in April. There was, Alan said, a good chance that they were
establishing a territory here; perhaps they were already nesting. It was
the first time that he had seen a pair on the estate.
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