As I walked up from Swanage, the fog got thicker and thicker, until visibility was just 100 metres or so!
From Durlston Head, if it wasn’t for the gentle whisper of the waves, you would barely know the sea was there, as a blank wall of fog hangs over the sea.
From the coast path, the bubbling growls of Guillemots rise up from below, although the birds themselves are quite invisible! The fog seems to make sounds even louder, with a flock of Woodpigeon, barely visible, passing overhead with a clattering of wings.
Around the meadows, the chorus of birdsong is becoming louder and more varied, as the winter passes. From the hedgerows, the ‘jazzy’ rhythms of a Dunnock mingle with the sweet (though faltering) notes of a Blackbird, the repeated phrases of a Song Thrush (“There’s the wise Thrush, He sings each song twice over”), the punchy, insistent song of Robins, and the “squeaky bike pump” call of Great Tits.
A family of Long-tailed Tits bustle along the Drove, rotating through 180 degrees as they feed, filling the air with their squeaky calls.
Near the copse, Winter Heliotrope is in bloom, filling the air with a sweet marzipan scent.
In the woodland, a few signs of spring are starting to appear, with the green spikes of Snowdrops, tall Daffodils in leaf and bud, the delicate, fresh green leaves of Herb Robert, with glossy green Hart’s Tongue Fern leaves gleaming with dew.