On my walk, today, I saw a bird rising vertically off the surface of the field next to me, and as soon as it started its wonderful song, I realised it was a Skylark.

I’ve written before about having killed a Skylark with an air gun when I was a young teenager. Every time I see one, I say sorry. The guilty feeling hasn’t gone away even after five decades.

Later in the walk, I heard shotgun fire from a nearby wood and found myself musing, yet again, about what makes someone set out from their home, on a beautiful, still, sunny, day thinking “I feel like blowing some beautiful animals out of the sky – for fun”

I mean really, what goes through their minds, both in anticipation and in the act?

2 thoughts on “Bloodlust

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