The lazy mist crept on its journey slow, I’m glad I shrugged off the hibernal gloom, the sky was blue, the clouds like cotton balls, it was a beautiful day banishing the gloom and the morning felt fresh minted.  In the corner of my vision a skylark rose singing a torrent of bubbling music.  With his silver chain of song, I listened tentatively to those blended notes telling me that spring had returned once more.  I marvelled at the exhausting energy of it all as the music deftly wooed.  With Maverick’s new palette of sniffs, we headed for the trees, as we entered the nook of the wood something caught my eye, a man sat on a fallen log with a large dog by his side.  His vowels were as rich and confident as Victorian furniture, his hands seemed to wander without reference to what he said.  When I tried to speak my voice went unheard, my words were rejected and counted for nothing, I therefore refrained from the spoken word, his presence diluted the reverence as I disconnected our conversation.  Maverick’s eyes were locked in on them both, we wandered on and left this place, heading for the edgeland of the fields.