About a brook

摘要

There's a definite November nip in the air. The leaves are pretty much gone from the trees and the waterside vegetation, which was so lush a couple of months ago, is dying back. I pace the banks of my beloved brook, looking for familiar paw prints, droppings and feeding signs. But there are none. Once again, the water voles have packed up for winter. I have been studying this site for several years, watching its voles fight and play, dig and eat, patrol and scent-mark. I've sat quietly on my canvas stool among the willowherb and, as a reward, have had individuals come right up to chew my boots.