My nerves jangle as we move the cattle.

I get caught up in Blue Tit conversations as I dig up Ragwort.

Barley heads bow tighter as harvest approaches.

Pigs, like kids, find fun with a cardboard box.

Sheep know the heat comes and hide in any shade.

Instinct kicks in as the Landrover clutch fails.

Weaned sheep hold my gaze and I feel shame.

Swans on a reinforced reed pontoon protect their growing cignets.

The rain comes and all action is grounded.

Rain knocks the Barley and we nervously watch the weather.

More rain fills the dykes and water tanks over flow.

In thick gloves we pull nettles from the stalled mower.

The storm circles me or is it me circling it?

In her demise the goose is still keenly guarded by a sad gander.

Windfalls, chopped, are enjoyed by the pigs.

Small,white black soil covered spuds appear - always like magic.

Stubbles crackle and breakup as the discs do their work.

A family of Buzzards and I work the land in close quarters.

Fledgling Blue Tits all of a flutter, flutter and flap themselves free.

I am choosing to leave this platform. My daily NOW posts will continue on my website - kategenever.com.