There have been shenanigans, frights and startles in the night. The flimsy fence dividing Nightingales Field in half has come down and the (non‑electrified) electric tape is ribboning in the wind. Some of the fence posts have popped up out of the sodden ground, leaving glinting wells of water.
I cannot fathom what’s happened. But the horses are settled and not injured, and I know today – even though I can’t yet see it – that the spring grass is growing. Neither horse comes to nuzzle my pockets for treats; they are grazing with a new focus.
