The Quiet Paths

22nd August, 2026

Yesterday felt like autumn.

The air was cool, the light subdued and I had dressed accordingly as Pepper and I set off on one of our usual wanders around Musbury. There was that first hint of the changing season in the valley, despite August still having plenty of summer left to give.

It turned out to be a rather strange walk.

Pepper found a sheep’s ear.

This is perhaps not an entirely remarkable discovery in sheep country, except that the ear still carried its identification tag. I took a photograph and later discovered that a local farmer had posted online about a sheep that had been found dead in rather unusual and disturbing circumstances. The head had been removed and taken away.

It appeared Pepper had found a missing piece of the puzzle.

Her promotion to Detective Pepper, Rural Crimes Division was immediate.

Humour aside, I found the whole thing more than a little disturbing. I won’t go into the details here, but there was something about the deliberate nature of it that stayed with me for the rest of the day.

As we continued our walk, the valley seemed to echo the mood. A magpie perched on the head of another (living) sheep, while far across the hillside a roe deer watched from the grass. Everything felt unusually still and autumnal.

It reminded me that life in this rural community isn’t always magical.

I spend so much of my time writing about the beauty of this place — the wildlife, the changing seasons, the moors and the quiet pleasure of walking familiar paths. Yesterday was a reminder that there are harsher and occasionally inexplicable things here too.

I wasn’t frightened, exactly. Just unsettled.

There was something uncomfortable about knowing that somebody had done this in a landscape I know so well. Whoever they were had walked these same paths, crossed these same fields and then presumably returned to ordinary life somewhere. Perhaps they live miles away. Perhaps not.

And because apparently this is how my mind works, I went home and started researching sheep.

What began as an attempt to understand whether there might be any significance to what had happened soon sent me disappearing down a rabbit hole of Lancashire and South Pennine folklore.

Sheep have been part of life on these uplands for centuries, and inevitably they have wandered into the stories and superstitions of the people who lived alongside them. I found old beliefs surrounding protection, luck and livestock, curious customs and tales attached to the moors, and the wonderful figure of Old Ball — the great black ram of Lancashire folklore.

It was fascinating.

It also explained absolutely nothing.

There is no reason to suppose that what happened on Musbury had anything to do with folklore, ritual or ancient beliefs. Sometimes something strange happens and our minds simply want to find a story capable of explaining it.

This morning, however, Helmshore decided that I’d had quite enough mystery.

Summer had returned.

Pepper and I set out beneath warm sunshine, while swallows and house martins swept low over the grass, feeding on the wing. Having dressed for yesterday’s chilly weather, I very quickly discovered that I was wearing entirely the wrong clothes.

Then I heard the little owls.

Their calls were coming from some distance away, but eventually I spotted one. Or at least I thought I did.

Little owls are tiny and difficult to photograph at range. I knew I wasn’t going to capture much detail, but I love recording their presence when I can.

Snap.

Snap.

Snap.

I took rather a lot.

Back home, I eagerly downloaded the photographs and began scrolling through them.

One owl.

Two owls.

Ten owls.

Thirty owls.

Seventy photographs later, closer inspection revealed that I had produced an extensive and remarkably comprehensive photographic study…

…of a rock.

Admittedly, it was an extremely owl-shaped rock.

But a rock nonetheless.

The real little owls had been calling throughout, presumably from somewhere nearby, while I enthusiastically photographed a lump of stone.

I like to think they were laughing.

And perhaps that’s a better place to leave this strange couple of days.

Yesterday reminded me that there are things within this landscape I may never understand. Today reminded me why I love it anyway.

The deer still move quietly across the hillsides. Swallows and house martins still dance above the fields. Little owls still call from their secret places. Pepper still investigates absolutely everything.

And I am still walking the same quiet paths.

Although perhaps next time I’ll take the binoculars.

The rocks around here are becoming far too convincing.