Sometimes in early summer when only the sky is awake, there are fox cubs tumbling in the long grasses. Sometimes Painted Lady butterflies flit like a granny fanning herself through the Feast of the Assumption service. Sometimes a girl child, who likes numbers more than people, counts the sheep; and then sets out to count every single stone in the wall to show everyone who didn’t already know that she is far cleverer than all her brothers. Sometimes a woman comes with a camera, and when she leaves the Common Pipistrelles swoop through, erasing lacewings, mayflies and midges from the evening air. And then there is the barn, but that is always much the same.

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