Hunters

The trouble with weekends – and Wednesday – is that you share the magic mornings with the hunters.

As I walked up to the village of Serres this morning, I was suddenly overtaken by three 4x4s and vans – a positive traffic jam by local standards.  I realised that the sanglier (wild boar) must have shifted on the hillside above, and some of the hunters were rushing from one end of the valley to the other.

I was right: as I returned down from Serres I heard some very loud bangs.  And then silence.

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