An unseasonably hot end to September—hot enough for it to be July. In a fit of madness, I head up on to the moor. I have decided to check out a couple of the moor's ancient monuments for a project I'm thinking about (on which, you can blame the lateness and brevity of this post). I visit the site of a Bronze Age urnfield, and an ancient barrow known as Miller's Grave.
En route to the latter via Churn Milk Joan, I spot a lone wheatear, flying low across the heather. Surely this wheatear must be the year's last! No sign of any swallows—it looks as if they really have gone this time!