For your information ...

Red grouse shooting season opens today in Scotland.

Without commenting on what I think of this practice, or associated activities, take a look here at what these genteel folk wear when they go out grouse shooting, and how beautiful is that high-waving heather on a Scottish moor.

And for that I shall give you a bonus poem from this month's poet:

High Waving Heather

Emily Brontë

High waving heather, 'neath stormy blasts bending,

Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars;

Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending,

Earth rising to heaven and heaven descending,

Man's spirit away from its drear dongeon sending,

Bursting the fetters and breaking the bars.

All down the mountain sides, wild forest lending

One mighty voice to the life-giving wind;

Rivers their banks in the jubilee rending,

Fast through the valleys a reckless course wending,

Wider and deeper their waters extending,

Leaving a desolate desert behind.

Shining and lowering and swelling and dying,

Changing for ever from midnight to noon;

Roaring like thunder, like soft music sighing,

Shadows on shadows advancing and flying,

Lightning-bright flashes the deep gloom defying,

Coming as swiftly and fading as soon.