Indian summer

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!

Meadow pipit
Meadow pipit.

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