Hare

The twilight hare with his black-tipped ears and tail is out and about - and mildly surprised to see me.

He sits on his huge, rawboned haunches, eyeing me thoughtfully and squintwise, out of the very corner of his eye - but letting me take a couple of pictures before loping off across the evening fields with powerful, expert strides.

Who could ever mistake a rabbit for a hare?

It would be like mistaking Martin Freeman for Vinnie Jones.


One had a lovely face,
And two or three had charm,
But charm and face were in vain
Because the mountain grass
Cannot but keep the form
Where the mountain hare has lain
William Butler Yeats