On a grey English afternoon, amongst the gorse and heather, the magpies examined the undergrass, heads cocked, tails flicking; moorhens cried out on Blackroot pool; the coots and mandarin ducks wove rippling circles; the pink jay cooed softly from the holly and then was gone; and King Crow with his belly feathers fluffed out strode slowly to greet us with fathomless black eyes and a shaggy-headed crown. My shadows, these toothy, persistent demons are getting the better of me again, and I fled to nature for some small moments of solace.