Back on home turf, and what could be finer than an early morning run in June across the fields. Not a breath of wind stirring the wind turbines way over on the horizon and the fields bright with yellow rapeseed and fringed with frothy cow parsley and blood red poppies.
The buzzard watched me from her perch in the trees by the airfield and I even had the privilege of seeing a barn owl floating over the fields until my panting along made it change course.
It's nice to be home.