Wild-fowling
(16/10/1970)
We had a man named David (with a golden retriever called Raffles) staying nearby, and he invited us to go wild-fowling in the estuary of the River Ythan. I was happy to go, but happy that we had scant success. "Angus" was Angus MacInnes from the Isle of Skye, a highlander with an upper-class English accent, very talented musically, but with a hard dry wit. He comes up again in a later offering………….
Angus said the next one was the Hunter's Moon
Yellow, or gold, near the horizon,
Silver as it climbed,
It rose.
And down on the marshes we waited.
Body in limbo,
Senses alert,
Gun in hand.
The mist banked black over the water
And in my mind my thoughts tumbled with the duck.
Whee! Whee! Whee! Whee!
They came
En echelon above
Outlines - - -
Out of range!
I waited,
Relaxed.
Trees linking hands against the fog,
Careless grey cattle shuffled,
And the mud flats lay, ready to squelch
At a footfall.
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We didn't get any that night.
They didn't come,
And my conscience eased to think
It wouldn't have to question me…….