Scattered light mottles through the rank of trees reigning over the aisle between fields in royal stainglass arcs of protection. The wheat is young and green though stretches tall enough to dance under the influence of wind's song and conceal scurrying mouse, hare and proud breasted pheasant from hunters gun and farmers dog. No echoed shots ring out today only the call of birds seeking twig and thistledown to weave chalice cupped homes high up in the throne of trunk, out of view from all but the few who come to seek solitude.