November carries heavy rain across the Northern Atlantic, which drench our moors for days on end. It’s a time to withdraw, shelter and to catch up with the year. It’s a time to be patient, because every so often, a sun breaks through and if it does, the light of an evening slides in at such an angle that the moors light up in copper and the hills are draped in royal blue.
It’s the time for short-eared owls to arrive from the snow-covered North and hunt over our fells.
Their piercing calls carry over hill-side and fields as they scour the ground for voles, their silver wings framed by the light. As the sun sets and the winds pick up, the owl perches every so often and only her eyes still catch the last of the autumn’s sun before the skies lose their saturation and day blends into night.