If I hadn’t walked out in the dusk this evening, I wouldn’t have seen the two deer across the field over at the edge of the wood.

I wouldn’t have heard – then seen – the lines of cranes flying north.

I wouldn’t have seen the outline of the bare trees against the deepening blue, the clouds that had just left the hail and the sun set.

I wouldn’t have watched the clouds gather at the top of the hill or the mist tumbling in at the crossroads.

I wouldn’t have seen our neighbour Mr Breton waving to me as he drove past in his battered white van with his dog at his side in the passenger seat.

Home now to the wood stove and to wonder why I feel the need to tell you all this.