The fourteenth day of this month arrives in a tepid mist. Again the weather is unsure, vacillating between chill and light warmth, as spring unsettles winter. We take a measured stroll around the field perimeters, which are marked in numerous ways. There are fences of squared wire, straggling lines of barbed wire, hedges in various states of repair, broad boundaries of blackberry thickets, impassable knots of willow, a clot of laurel, a clogged stream, sheets of corrugated tin, coppiced hazel and many types of over grown tree. Where Mr has chopped down the sycamore, thick sap drips and orange splatters appear, like the stumps have vomited carrot soup in protest. We marvel at the attribute, although it is not pleasant, it is interesting behaviour. From the top path, we look out across the valley and onto the moors. The perimeters of the horizon are hazed, as winter blurs into spring.