The Bronze Hare on the Plinth — And Why I Keep Going Back to It

There's a new arrival at Dane Manor that has already claimed a corner of my heart — a small bronze hare, ears up, caught in that listening pose every country walker will recognise.

I spotted him quietly among our latest delivery and moved him straight onto a plinth by the window. Within an hour, three visitors had asked the same thing: "Can I pick him up?" That's the joy of a good sculpture — photographs never quite do it justice. You have to feel the weight of bronze in your palm, notice how the light moves across the patina as the afternoon turns, and trace with your finger the lines where the artist has suggested fur without ever quite describing it.

Hares have always fascinated me. They're our most watchful countryside neighbour — equal parts folklore and flesh, turning up in Celtic myths, Beatrix Potter's fields, and centuries of British landscape painting. This piece captures that alertness beautifully: a single still moment, ears tuned, shoulders tense, about to bolt or about to relax. You can almost hear him breathing.

He's the sort of piece that earns a quiet place in a home — a mantelpiece, a bookshelf, even a sheltered spot in the garden — and keeps giving back for years. He takes up very little room and yet somehow becomes the thing the eye keeps returning to.

If you're passing, do drop in and say hello to him. Photographs are one thing, but a hare held in your hand is quite another.