Mournful wind song shudders the old aerials.
Solid thud of shotgun sounds from the banks of the swollen river, under a plain sky coloured like thick ice.
Any leaf that has not fallen shivers in the moan of the wind.
Birds' song carries a restless note.
Beauty strikes starkly.
Beyond the river, a faint view of moorlands, where any creature can live and die and never be known.
Bones are weathered, lay stoic in clumps of enduring grass.