Suspension

It was a south wind but not a warming one on the exposed hillsides. It felt like a change though. In the age of sail it might bring all hands on deck.

But this corner of the woods was still, in abeyance apart from restless bird activity. The thrust of seasonal change has not made much impression yet on the trees down here.

You can just make out buds on the hawthorn but there's a general reluctance to take the next step.
And the stags are in suspended state. They've chosen to occupy this spot in previous years to go through that difficult transition.

In desultory mood they wait for antler drop and moult, not up to doing much at all; so we see them lying down or drifting aimlessly among birch and pines.