It’s one of those still mornings where your ears become attune to each and every sound: Crows cawing from the copse, Woodpigeon wings flapping as they take flight from an Ash tree, and of course mud squelching beneath my boots with every step.
Turning into the Lighthouse Field reveals a glorious sunrise which alights the Downs and paints the south-facing walls gold. Fast-paced chirping erupts from the hedges all around, as the Wrens discuss the mornings events.
The Gully is quiet. A lone Magpie glides with its pretty black and white wings splayed out. It descends low above the still Hawthorn. Having retained its evergreen leaves, clumps of dew-covered Ivy glisten between the otherwise bare branches.
Stepping past the gloomy barren quarrs, I ascend onto the open ridge. The Sun’s light reflects upon the white-washed walls and chimney stacks of the cottages at St Aldhelm’s Head to the west, and likewise, upon the fluffy white undersides of the Hereford Cattle in Eight Acres to the north.
Jackdaws play above the coastline. Now with a slight breeze I can hear the sea lapping the cliffs. A group of small birds fly overhead, I catch a glimpse of a Chiffchaff amongst them, but didn’t get chance to identify the others. All I heard was a high-pitched ‘eee eee eee eee’ as they flew.