Wonderful whistles and tuneful tweets. It’s another still morning, so the gentle bird song carries through the air. Robin, Blue Tit, and Goldfinch singing between the barren branches. Leaves only filling the gaps, where the evergreen Holm Oak grows, and Ivy has crept into the canopy. Harsher shrills from the churr of Magpie, and the leaves which crunch under my feet.
By contrast, the meadows are damp. Soft clay tracks around the Yellow Meadow Ant hills that turns to slippery mud through the gateways. Here in the open, I can hear sounds from further afield. The clunking of quarry machinery to the west, and the cawing Herring Gulls from Swanage Bay. Low fog descending upon Ballard Down and the top of Old Harry.
Looking across the Downs, I can see a raptor dropping to hunt in the garden at Anvil Point Lighthouse. Numerous Jackdaw watching on. As I’m walking down the hill, a rumble of footsteps builds beyond the wall to my right: A scared Roe Deer, being pursued by a dog. It bounds over the wall right in front of me, close enough to see the velvet covering the Buck’s antlers. This fluffy skin-like layer provides blood to grow the antlers each year, and is dropped once fully formed. I speak to dog owner, and continue to Tilly Whim.
Despite the lack of wind, waves still roll into the cliffs and across the lowest ledge. I slide down over the Samphire slope, for a closer listen. Flow, and the blow hole thunders. Ebb, cascades of white water. Guillemots race past in twos and threes. Shag wing tips almost touch the water with each beat.
As I’m watching the water, an Grey Seal appears below the cliff. It pokes it’s head upwards, and rises through the surf. It’s carried back and forth, so chilled and at ease, whilst surrounded by the chaos of whitewater.