Roon the back

We don't really have a backyard. Or a back garden.

We have a yard, which is the bit between the byres and the sheds. We have a veg garden (well, we will one day once we've cleared the rest of the rubble) and we have a bit at the front of the house which we are gradually transforming from a bit of grass into a garden with flowers and ponds and stuff.

"Roon the back" isn't a garden. More of a small field, a very small field. In fact it's not really a field either. It's where the chooks and the ducks hang oot. It's where the kids build forts and dens out of old tyres (yes, their father has let them have some). It's where our sceptic tank is half hidden under our forest of nettles and other essential wildflowers.

It's also where I go to take blips of this view. And where even before blip I would sneak of to get a bit of fresh air. We don't have a back door, so even though you are just behind the house you feel that you have escaped.

Tonight, it was still. And calm. Not a breath of wind stirred the grass. The ducks were snoozing, the hens scouting for a last tasty morsel before heading for their roost. The field next door was full of curlews and the sun was heading below the horizon.

There was a nip in the air. It smelled of October.