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Hen Harrier Day

Hen Harrier Day

A bit belatedly I realised it’s Hen Harrier Day today. Here’s a rapidly composed post to highlight their plight. Thanks to John Bainbridge for reblogging the original post on the bowlandclimber blog.

It’s Hen Harrier Day this Saturday (8th August 2020) and this year it’s going online. Although we’ll miss the physical annual gathering at venues up and down the country, this year there’s actually far more scope to reach a huge audience, many of whom may previously have been unaware of the scandalous mismanagement of the UK uplands.

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A Birch Tree Sings

A Birch Tree Sings - Richard Jefferies Reimagined (#4)

There was a time, in my early 20s when, like Richard Jefferies, I lived and worked in a town (near London). I had an upstairs flat in an old Victorian house. Outside, on the other side of the road, was a Birch tree ...

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A Leaf Falls

A Leaf Falls - Richard Jefferies Reimagined (#5)

Realising that spirit, recognising my own inner consciousness, the psyche, so clearly, I cannot understand time. It is
eternity now. I am in the midst of it. It is about me in the sunshine; I am in it, as the butterfly floats in the light-laden air.

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The Hawk in the Wind

The Hawk in the Wind - Richard Jefferies Reimagined (#2)

[…] See—the hawk, after going nearly out of sight, has swept round, and passes again at no great distance; this is a common habit of his kind, to beat round in wide circles. As the breeze strikes him aslant his course he seems to fly for a short time partly on one side, like a skater sliding on the outer edge[…]

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Distant Hills

Wood on the Downs , 1929 Paul Nash

Distant Hills - Richard Jefferies Reimagined (#1)

Walking in the footsteps of Richard Jefferies ... “I was not more than eighteen when an inner and esoteric meaning began to come to me from all the visible universe, and indefinable aspira­tions filled me. I found them in the grass fields, under the trees, on the hill-tops, at sunrise, and in the night. There was a deeper meaning every­where. The sun burned with it, the broad front of morning beamed with it; a deep feeling entered me while gazing at the sky in the azure noon, and in the star-lit evening —' The Story of my Heart’.”

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