Rabbits

       Wind. A cold blast forcing through the bracken making it bend and crackle against itself. I never liked these biting starts in the Winter, the moon still hovering low in a dawn sky but it is the best time for catching rabbits on the Heath, and I cannot turn my back on free meat in the Winter.
       The wind tugs at my wax great coat as if I was a character in Aesops fable but there is no sun to balance the story. It is time to apply more lanolin mix to the canvas of my coat, I can feel the wind through it so the dew will seep through too as I lie in the frosted bracken.  I climb higher, keeping to the track through the bogs, hoping good fortune will be with me, and watch as peat dust and dried leaves are swirled in a current and the picture spirals in the wind. The mirror reflection of the sky glitters as the first rays of morning light are caught in the frosty edged dimples of peat puddles and stone hollows. The picture spirals and glitters, spirals and glitters, then all is lulled and I am brought back to the job at hand.
       It is a well practiced action. Anticipated. Inevitable. I lay out the snares and offer up my words in a breath-cloud of silent penitence.Good fortune be with me. The School bell rings out its wake-up call as the first buck snares himself. The wire bites down on his neck as he pulls against the snare. The twitching that follows is as inevitable as his end and I dispatch him quickly as the wind sings its lament across the Heath.

November 14 copyright Holly Khan