The world from my window

When I stand at the top of the hill I'm often tempted to break out into song, especially first thing in the morning when there's nobody else about. Something along the lines of Woody Guthrie's 'This Land Is Your Land'  but adapted to fit west Dorset. 'This land was made for you and me' . Up the top, this land belongs to The National Trust (so it is your land, and mine too) but, lower down, it belongs to the farmer. And whilst a footpath runs through it, which gives us the right to walk through the field, it doesn't give us the right to leave the gates open. Respect, protect, enjoy - that's what the Countryside Code says. I was up with the lark again this morning to find a herd of young cattle enjoying unfettered access to a newly-seeded field because some idiot had done just that. It happens a lot during the school holidays, apparently. I messaged the farmer from high up on the hill. 'Are the cattle meant to be in here?

 Up on the hill on Valentine's Day, the sun is breaking through the mist. It's magical up here at this time of the morning. The dog's done her business (carefully picked up and bagged to drop off later) and she's now off snuffling around for deer and rabbits. Grey squirrels scuttle through the top branches of the beech trees, like flying foxes in a David Attenborough wildlife programme. A few weeks ago, there were mystery huntsmen up here on a Sunday morning, shooting in trees at the squirrels which, in many rural quarters , are considered fluffy-tailed vermin, having invaded our land and practically wiped out their protected Squirrel Nutkin red cousins. It's not illegal to kill them but only if it's done humanely, and you have to have the landowner's permission to shoot on their land. The guns' activity spooked the dog, who ran off to find out what was going on. She came back later and I found out that a fellow dog walker from the vill