High on Eyam Moor, there was no shortage of things to look at. Meadow vetch and lady’s bedstraw had turned the trackside a vibrant yellow. The moor itself glittered white with heath bedstraw, over which small heath butterflies fluttered restlessly. The rich and ceaseless accompaniment to this was a skylark overhead, and as I approached the farmhouse and the stand of sycamores beyond, the saccharine flourish of goldfinches.
All that was missing was the creature I’d come to see. It had recently departed, leaving just the impression of where it had lain. Near the farm, close by a gritstone field wall, the long grasses had been flattened into a rough circle, or “form”, where a leveret had spent its early weeks. Its human neighbours had alerted me, but I had waited too long to visit, and now, like a ghost, the hare had vanished. Never mind. Despite the disappointment, there was something thought‑provoking, even moving, about this fragile refuge.
