07/09/2026
The old farmhouse stood quietly on the edge of former mining land, weathered and forgotten, surrounded by a landscape shaped by its industrial past. As the evening sun began to sink, I spotted a pale shape on the roof.
A barn owl, perched on a post with its kill.
I watched quietly as it rested in the fading light, before eventually disappearing into the old farmhouse. Somewhere inside one of the chimney stacks, hidden deep in the darkness, its young were waiting.
I was lucky enough to capture the owl as it later emerged back onto the roof, having fed its young, its pale feathers glowing in the last light of the day.
Since then, I’ve heard the faint calls of the owlets from inside the chimney, although I’m yet to see them. I’m hoping that, as they grow stronger and begin to venture out, I might be lucky enough to witness their first appearances.
For a building that has stood empty and forgotten for so long, the old farmhouse suddenly feels very much alive.
