A frosty morning. My hands already cold, having scraped the ice from my car’s windscreen. There’s a satisfying crunch underfoot across the grasslands frosted white. Each blade intricately decorated with ice flakes, awaiting the late sunrise to melt the frozen dew.
The birds already stir, with a good few Great Tit and Robin tumbling about the Holm Oak branches, tweeting, churring, and singing, as they do. Between their calls, a quieter ‘tsee tsee tsee’ is heard from Goldcrest, higher in pitch than that of a Firecrest.
I follow the flocks of Jackdaw down to the cliffs. Here, I enjoy the patches of yellow flowers upon the Gorse, which will continue to build in intensity through the winter. Gentle cooing from Woodpigeons who gather along the cliff edge, and Shags patrol the water below.
The Sun breaks out above a band cloud upon the horizon. It alights the white-walled lighthouse, Round Down, the Wares, and beyond. Casting a warm glow upon the hills. Glistening grass where the dew begins to melt.
I head west along the coastal path upon hard ground; a welcome change for this section which is usually too muddy this time of year. Sticky puddles are frozen solid, complete with Roe Deer tracks imprinted into the clay.
I step down a beaten climber’s path to the Marmolata Buttress to watch the water dance around the bottom of the cliffs. Loud characteristic screeching is heard from the next promontory west, where sure enough, the two Peregrine Falcon are sighted.
On my return up to the office, a Song Thrush is spotted singing atop a Sycamore tree. It’s beak agape, a chest pumped up to bellow out its song. Chest feathers mottled brown and white, with flecks of yellow towards its chin.