Weather bleached bones litter the hillsides.
Mostly sheep, occasionally rabbit or weasel, sometimes a bird skull and beak.
I often wonder at the demise of the owners of these bones.
Did they die naturally?
Did the fall prey to a hungry fox?
Did the snows over winter seep their last remaining energy and lying down and sleeping
till they died was the most natural thing to do?
Nothing is wasted.
The flesh is all gone, eaten, scavenged by passing animals,
wool and fur taken for nesting material.
All that is left are reminders of lives gone.