Foxglove

Small growings of elder and hawthorn clung to the gaps scooped out below me, buttressed with bramble in the sheltered parts, then the land fell sheer in thin soil over chalk, where nothing could hold root except the more determined of the downland wild flowers.

As the slope eased off more gently, small copses offered shelter for wildlife, and the fields at the bottom were richly grassed and dotted with grazing stock.

Bringing my gaze partway upwards again, I saw the back of a kestrel hovering below me, saw her swoop and touch the ground, and then rise up again, banking sideways to skim over the top and down into the next valley.

The dogs were restive, drinking the wind. Luckily the breeze was wrong to bring them the roebuck that eased out of cover well below us, with a very heavy doe behind him. She was carrying her pregnancy low, and would drop her young within the day, I thought.

For full feature see the West Sussex Gazette June 4