In the wood it's still, a few birds chatter quietly not wanting to disturb the peace and beyond that nothing stirs. The woodland still sleeps cradled safe in winters embrace. Through the hedge though it's a different world. A bang, followed by another and another, a volley of shotguns shatter the silence, followed by the laughing and inaudible chatter of the shooters, close by but still out of sight. They call it sport, though I don't think the birds in their sights are equally armed. I move along the woodland fringe, still hidden as I'm not sure if I'm trespassing or not. I move into a position from where I can see the shooters stood next to their fleet of black, what look like, range rovers. I have no objection to folk hunting for food, with respect that is. It's only natural, you know, one for the pot. But this, this is something different, people who see themselves as entitled, blasting away willy nilly at foul for a laugh....sport? No, I don't think so.
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