So, here I am trying to work and Ffion phones again to say she’s going to fly the beauty. And the sun is shining, but I should be working on the Cat Walk book. And somehow in my heart I know that Matthew will forgive me as I pick up my camera and rush out the house. She’s free flying now, without the creance. She could go any day, just feeling the wind under her wings and off. Soft jesses so if she flies she will be able to get them off and they won’t snag and tangle in the trees. Falconry terms are such beautiful, soft words.
So, Ffi weighs the bird and we walk out and she asks me to keep my distance when she flies so she doesn’t spook and we walk across the fields and Ffi says, I will just go and put her on the cannon in the middle of the field and I say, cannon? What’s a cannon? Is that a falconry term and Ffi gives me an odd kind of sideways look and says no, it’s a cannon, in the middle of the field. Sticking up. Well, of course it is. This is Pembrokeshire.