One icy morning this January a car slid off the road and through the dyke - right beside that telegraph pole. It was not the first such incident here. Buried six inches in the mud at the same spot were the dials of a motorbike held together like enormous specacles on a rusty bow of iron. 20 some metres of dyke were in a sorry state from these and other accidents.
It's wet. The wettest part of the field.But the company is good.
These Dales ponies stayed away from me for most of the day. It was a day with some nasty wintry squalls so I was head down, hood up and hat pulled low. I didn't hear them when they eventually came late in the afternoon. How long she was there I don't know but she slowly pushed her head forward until it was on my shoulder. I still didn't notice her so she gave a big snort. Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack.Coming back here gave me the chance to take some pictures of work I did at the end of last summer. I will put them up later.
