Autumn is of course a time for colour. Even today, beneath the persistent dull grey sky, Durlston does not disappoint.
Upon my arrival at the car park, I’m drawn to one corner where the green leaves of a tall Forsythia shrub have turned a magnificent lemon yellow. Next to it, a Spindle clings to it’s yellowing leaves, but with the brilliant magenta berries draped along its branches. On some, the outer pink casing has cracked open to reveal the orange fruit inside.
Here, on the edge of the Reservoir Copse, I listen to the whistles and chirps from Robin, Wren, and a Bullfinch calling out from with the trees. Woodpigeons race overhead, at a very different pace to the gentle charms of Goldfinch with their ‘tinkling’ sound as they fly.
I step into the copse, through the red stems of the bordering Dogwood. It feels calmer and quieter, despite the cawing Rooks heard in the distance. Under the canopy of Ivy-clad Sycamore, Ash, and Willow, I listen to the high-pitched ‘tsee tsee tsee’ Goldcrest call, against the continuous Robin song.
The breeze rattles browned Sycamore leaves to fall from their branches, and silvery white Poplar leaves are also scattered through. Blue Tits flit silently between the branches above, and I catch a glimpse of Firecrest with the distinctive fiery orange strip upon its head.
I find the clamour of Rooks filling the sky towards the Castle. Their black silhouettes floating around alongside a number of Jackdaw. They gather above the Holm Oaks whilst sounding their caws; much harsher than the squeaky Jackdaw. Soaring at speed amongst them, I spot the determined flight of Peregrine. The corvids respond with even more noise. One of the Rooks chases after the raptor, going for it’s tail, before they disappear over the trees.
At the end of my walk, I head out to the Stevenson screen to record the weather. Calling out nearby, a Song Thrush is heard. The bird works through its curious notes, repeating each one three or four times, before moving onto a new one, completely different to the last.