Sunday, 4th November 2001, West Yorkshire
WE'RE WALKING down the quarry-side path through a narrow tunnel of overhanging birch, ash and hawthorn. I'm ducking to avoid the overhanging branches when there's a 'thrub!' of whirring wings just inches above my head, a glancing touch and the draught of air from passing wings. I turn to see a Collared Dove flying at full speed, closely followed, just inches above and a foot behind, by a large brown Sparrowhawk.
Where Barbara is standing just a few yards ahead of me along the path a few grey feathers of the dove are drifting down from the branches.
Perhaps she had disturbed the sparrowhawk just as it had caught the dove, which made a dash for freedom. The path runs close to a garden where they hang out bird feeders.
My head seems to be attractive to wildlife today; a wasp blunders into me and gets tangled in my hair.
This day last year