Everywhere, water is seeping. Filling the ditches and field margins, submerging the paths, bringing shards of sky down to earth in unexpected places. The moist air feels heavy and the sedge beds look flat and lifeless as I squelch across North Meadow in my wellies. I’ve heard reports of kingfishers and snipes in the wetlands, so I’m hoping for an avian encounter to lift the morning gloom. In the shelter of a hawthorn, I pause to scan a small.
<strong>Wenlock Edge, Shropshire</strong><strong>: </strong>Answering with a clicking noise draws a response from the ravens, maybe they thought they knew who the sound belonged to