Take a leaf out of the little Dunlin’s book

Horses in their winter jackets look somewhat doleful as they stand casting long shadows in the sloping fields above the sea.

They have grazed their fill and now they are just standing about aimlessly, like statues, their breath smoky in the cold air.

It seems that animals have an ability to switch off, to just ‘be there’, as if they were another bush or tree, alone in a field or with companions, unmoved by the wind blowing through them, or rain-blown wind slicking their sodden flanks as the night comes down.