Prose

Bluebells lay faded in the cool shade of the Beech woods
some seemingly crushed under wild stampeding hooves
when the spooked deer had rushed from a startling crack -
that of snapping twigs showing how clumsy those stalkers had been...

The pale green fronds of ferns were still uncurling in the moist still air that was heavy with the aroma of wild mushrooms and an amalgam of last years leaf litter and freshly dropped spoor from the deer well laden with musk from the frisky bucks amongst the herd. Squirrels were content to watch from the security of their high branches as the obdurate stalkers moved off into the distance with soft asides and discontented mumbling from those that felt their prospects had shrunk through bringing the Lairds paying guests along .....

Brocks stirred a little in their slumber as more heavy footfalls passed by a few feet above the well lined chambers of their ancient set and a wary woodpecker broke away from his busy hammering to fly off to a more distant tree while the flat foots rued the chilly air. Within the hour twenty four feet had turned back towards the beckoning warmth of the hearty log fire in the great dining hall where even then a hot breakfast was being laid out in anticipation by the wise staff.

A quiet word to the Laird from his keeper satisfied him more than he allowed those well heeled guests to observe "Bad luck scaring the deer off" he counselled the group, "But there will be more opportunities before the weekend is done"  The keeper smiled to himself as he left the room, still fiddling with those dry sticks in his deep warm pocket....

©Rhumour
November 27th 2009