Ptarmigan

Snow chickens dust the high moors. White partridges grounded by rain crouch and huddle burrow into the gorse then as if forgetting the storm they heave up into the wet air just a little way just enough to cluck, bluster, and rattle, then to settle back scolding and flustered as only termagant ptarmigan can. Binoculars tight to eyes, soaked, ankle deep in mud - chilled to the bone. Highland cattle stare back blankly as if I were just another silent P.