Autumn walk near Ballylesson.

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Light, bright sunshine on a Friday morning in November matches my mood - no work to see to, just rest and the time to savour light, bright autumnal sunshine. There’s little in the air by way of warmth, but climbing up through the woods into the open fields generates enough heat on its own. We notice a log to sit on, but when we tramp through the long grass to get to it we see that it’s infested by a tickle of field mice running frantically over the crumbling, rotting surface; dozens of them racing, their feet hardly touching the wood, making it look as though the log is encased in a furry, mobile glove. At the top of the field we lean against the gate. Below us the village lies in a hollow, all isolated, and with smoke rising from chimneys into the otherwise clean, periwinkle sky and no-one around, not even a dog to bark at us.