Pink-footed geese, fly North, out of the sun and above me.
Distant pee-wit call of lapwing, and curlew.
A flock of starling in full voice, they’re noisy neighbours. Their dark forms show in the bare branches of an ash.
I cannot remember when first I knew fieldfare. The relationship feels mythic. Perhaps it’s the allure of North, those spring and summer months in Scandinavia, the wild places. I am eager for their return here in autumn They’re shy and elusive birds and that’s part of the allure.
Another mild day and the ground is soft, so the birds probe for insects, for worms. Moles are active at this time of year and there are clusters of freshly turned earth. The pasture is stippled with winter grasses and withered thistles and there’s a pale patch of straw where the farmer fed his ewes, their droppings provide insects
Until this last week I’ve found fieldfare in keeping to the safety of the high trees, or feeding on berries. Now the hawthorn berries must be almost gone and the birds forage on the ground, a change in their diet.