I loved the adrenaline rush of work as a political adviser – but a chance encounter with a tiny leveret make me rethink everything
The path near the barn where I lived was a short, unpaved track leading along the edge of a cornfield. I was deep in my thoughts one day, walking down this slope towards a narrow country lane, when I was brought up short by a tiny creature facing me on the grass strip running down the track’s centre. I stopped abruptly. Leveret. The word surfaced in my mind, even though I had never seen a young hare before.
The animal, no longer than the width of my palm, lay on its stomach with its eyes open and its short, silky ears held tightly against its back. Its fur was dark brown, thick and choppy. It blended into the dead winter landscape so completely that, but for the rapid rise and fall of its flanks, I would have mistaken it for a stone. Its jet-black eyes were encircled with a thick, uneven band of creamy fur. High on its forehead was a distinct white mark that stood out like a minute dribble of paint. It did not stir as I came into view, but studied the ground in front of it, unmoving.
‘It seemed impossible that the fragile animal at my feet could survive by itself.’ Photograph: Chloe Dalton
Continue reading… I loved the adrenaline rush of work as a political adviser – but a chance encounter with a tiny leveret make me rethink everythingThe path near the barn where I lived was a short, unpaved track leading along the edge of a cornfield. I was deep in my thoughts one day, walking down this slope towards a narrow country lane, when I was brought up short by a tiny creature facing me on the grass strip running down the track’s centre. I stopped abruptly. Leveret. The word surfaced in my mind, even though I had never seen a young hare before.The animal, no longer than the width of my palm, lay on its stomach with its eyes open and its short, silky ears held tightly against its back. Its fur was dark brown, thick and choppy. It blended into the dead winter landscape so completely that, but for the rapid rise and fall of its flanks, I would have mistaken it for a stone. Its jet-black eyes were encircled with a thick, uneven band of creamy fur. High on its forehead was a distinct white mark that stood out like a minute dribble of paint. It did not stir as I came into view, but studied the ground in front of it, unmoving.‘It seemed impossible that the fragile animal at my feet could survive by itself.’ Photograph: Chloe Dalton Continue reading… Life and style, Wildlife, Rural affairs, Animals, Science and nature books, UK news, Books, Environment
