• Matthew Slater

Skylarks

A hazy October morning - cool, with the suggestion of a warm sunny day ahead. I’m in a wide open space of gently undulating fields of corn stubble.

Slow.

Taking time to take deep breaths and exhale the stresses of the week.

This old elder, covered with bright red chains of bryony, was bathed in the unexpected panoramic surround sound of skylark song. Oh, how my world of work is so confined to ground level and to the table, screen or road directly in front of me. Here: a place to breathe in the convoluted melodies, warblings and chirpings of several unseen songsters, high above, in front or to the side and almost everywhere - a freedom to sing and fly in so many directions and fill the available volume with one of nature’s most distinctive voices.




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