We watch wind sprites make their fingerprints on the surface of Kentmere reservoir. Walking back in the dusk, braced against the end of the night. As we drive home, see a leveret in the road, trapped between hedges. Confused in the car headlights, it can use none of its speed. It dashes back and forth between the two sides of the road looking for a way out. Black tip ears, long legs quivering with fright. Finally it escapes.
Switch on the radio when we come into signal. There’s a news feature about rich people buying sanctuaries for themselves. Super yachts with armed security personnel. Second homes of course, in case of a new pandemic. Celebrity Panic rooms, especially in Holland Park where they’re proving very popular. But the real big sellers are bunkers. New Zealand has developed a whole industry providing post-nuclear bunkers for the super-rich. De-civilisation.
On the way back the headlights flash on the stars of occasional insects. There used to be so many more. Great seas of them and now they’re dying away.
