Each morning, as I watch the coming of dawn, I see flocks outlined against the soft colours of sunrise. Thousands of dark birds flying north, probably starling. This morning I glimpse them far off and when I edit the images I can faintly make out the flock spread out across the sky. They must roost to the south and fly north to feed once daylight comes.
A sunrise of ever-changing hue and pattern.
Each morning, as I watch the coming of dawn, I see flocks outlined against the soft colours of sunrise. Thousands of dark birds flying north, probably starling. This morning I glimpse them far off and when I edit the images I can faintly make out the flock spread out across the sky. They must roost to the south and fly north to feed once daylight comes.
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A marsh harrier flew low over the reed beds. A water rail was squealing as we looked out across the fresh-water pool to an islet where water birds roosted. Shoveler of bold colours and long, broad bill. A cluster of Pintail, an elegant duck with long central tail feathers. Sheltering on the far side of the islet were some four or five snipe. Roosting with heads turned and bills tucked into the feathers of their mantles. These birds might seem somnolent but their eyes were watchful. The woods are rich and mellow. Sunlight discovers colours hidden away during November days of rain and murk. It is warm and bright as a summer’s day. Green catkins show on hazel, with silver birch shedding leaves of gold. Today, the feathery sunlit fruits of Clematis vitalba are Traveller’s Joy. Its other name of Old Man’s Beard is for less resplendent days Berries mingle in the woodland fringe. Fleshy red yew arils peep from dark foliage, holly berries show against blue sky, with pink spindle fruits and arcing branches of hawthorn berries. Once upon a time, I made a cornucopia at Halloween. The bright and bold allure of autumn fruits, a witchy mix nutritious and deadly. A naturalist's collection of beguiling beauty. Today, on an atmospheric November morning when the fells are hidden and rain clouds lour, we gather sloes, linger by the orchard at Sizergh, and leave the poisonous fruits of the hedgerow to birds, mice and field voles who eat them without harm. A scaffold of black bryony weaves into the hedgerows, trailing twisted ropes of glossy red berries. Beautiful to look at, best left alone. |
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