Raven and quote banner on an arm

The raven came back to the top field on Tuesday, the morning after the first hard frost, and sat on the gatepost as if it had paid for the view. Dad would have had something to say about that. He always said a raven on the post meant somebody was going to die, then he'd laugh and say it was only the weather. I've been thinking about him a lot since you left, and I suppose I'm writing to say so.

The barn roof took the worst of the gale in November, so Mum and I have been sleeping in the kitchen with the range lit. She says she is fine. She says a great many things. Last night she read the line Dad had painted on the old feed board, the one about living in the world, then she put the kettle on twice and forgot both times.

Mr Pryce from Hollin Farm brought over a lamb in a box, half dead, and we spent three hours by the stove bringing it round. It lived. I cried in the scullery afterwards, quite stupidly, and he pretended not to notice, which was kind. He said the hard part was never the lambing, it was the mornings after, when you have to go out again anyway.

The raven is still on the post. I've stopped shooing it. Some days I think it is just a bird and some days I think it is waiting for us to get on with things. Come at Easter if you can. Bring your boots, the lane is a river.

Love, Ruth