High up in the bare branches of a Sycamore, a Goldfinch’s bright yellow feathers glow in the sunlight. The bird chirps on its own, but it’s calls are echoed elsewhere in the breeze.
I decide I want to go and look in the pond, and too lazy to get the gate key, I find myself clambering through the Elder and Hawthorn. My boots trample down the Stinking Iris as I clumsily navigate my way through the low branches. My ungraceful approach alerts the Great Tits and Blue Tits and they chirp noisily to warn the others of my presence.
The pond is uneventful, lying dormant for winter, with just a few brown plants and empty sun-bleached Pond Snail shells. Here, along the moss-covered banks, I tread much more carefully; wondering where the Newts might be hiding whilst they over-winter.
The songs of chirping of Robins and passing Goldfinch dictate my walk through South Field and down towards the Lighthouse. Along the way, I hear Greenfinch wheeze from above the golden Gorse blooms, and the Wren’s buzz from within the Blackthorn. Even with the branches bare of leaves, these thickets of lichen-clad scrub provide shelter to these little brown birds.
I join the rocky coast path at the Lighthouse and follow it eastward towards the large square-cut cave entrances at Tilly Whim. It’s sunny, and the gentle waves reflect bright white as they roll and splash around the ledges below. Woodpigeons crowd their usual overhangs, and I can see Jackdaws flying in the distance.
Sheltered from the cool easterly breeze, I am optimistic for spying an Adder above the Tilly Whim steps. I spend a few minutes scouring the grassy bank and regretting my lack of binoculars. But then, sure enough, I manage to spot one basking above the Ivy. It could be easily mistaken for a stick, were it not for the black zigzag pattern running down its spine. I watch it as it moves its head, warmed by the sunlight, even on this cold winter’s day.