The presence of the owl was testament to the success of the wildflower margins around the fields, which were already increasing the supply of voles and mice. I peered up at the branches of other trees, hoping for a glimpse of the owl. Instead I found a grey squirrel frozen flat against the trunk of an oak, its body in shadow, the fur on its face, short rounded ears and agile paws tawny-orange in colour. The charcoal-grey fur of its tail was edged in contrasting white—a trick of camouflage similar to the hare’s but in this case suited to the tones and textures of bark.
