A Lakeland spring

The Southern Fells, Lake District Looking at the clear tops above, I feel like a kid waiting to get at his presents

I am just about to duck instinctively when whatever is heading straight at our heads banks sharply and misses us by metres, its yellow-rimmed eyes fixed upon us as it flies. Its chest is the colour of snow and stone and unmistakable.

There almost seems to be a moment of mutual surprise between us and the peregrine. After shooting over a rocky brow, it drifts easily through the wide expanse of Langdale, like an arrow that has achieved sentience after release and gone its own leisurely way.