Droplets of saliva, caught by the sun, glisten and spin as a rough, ragged ball plummets from high, bouncing down onto grass, bending tender, green spears, allowing perfect, oval indentations to stretch an erratic course into raspberry canes that shudder, shaking white blossoms, scattering pollen onto a Bumble Bee's back, coating its tiny black hairs in a pale yellow dusting.

Startled, two Guinea Fowl, their small, ugly faces painted white, leap and screech with indignant distress, their old maiden's necks protruding from grey, speckled feathers that conceal flesh almost ready for the dinner table.

Stroking her liver coloured head, the retrieved ball is dropped onto a splat of goose shit and brown,earnest hope gazes up at me. Fondling her soft, floppy ear, I leave a fusion of warm, organic smells to enter a blessed but temporary silence stuffed full with foetidness.