COUNTRY LIFE
I WENT out last night after a day of wild storm and rain, with the flcods rising in the Weald. I had seen acres under water round Etchingham, as I drove down the hill on my way to LeWes. And there were floods again along the Cuckmere valley. After this watery day, with damp in my soul, I was delighted to take a breath of dryish air before turning in. The sky broke, and the moon rode out of vast banks of cloud, skating along like a Greek discus, or seeming to.
The dripping orchards, winter-bare after the gales, stood under the moonlight with branches gleaming like oiled limbs. Suddenly my Corgi stopped, and pointed. I stared into the orchard over the bryony-tangled hedge (sodden bryony), and saw a flock of sheep. Now sheep by moon- light are among the most beautiful things in our countryside. There they stood, silent, except for the slow rhythm of masticating jaws, and an occasional jostle as one butted another or barged with its flank. All the filth was hidden. Every creature wan an opalescent shape, something sculptured in mother-of-pearl. The flock became a Celtic flock, half- faery. Further, every beast glowed, and I had the fancy that the light about it and contained by it was not wholly from the moon. Could there be, under these conditions of humidity changing to night-cold, some exhalation of vitality from the warm animals, a sort of radio-activity almost visible to the eye ?
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