Cheery red-faced Goldfinch decorate the scrub; reflecting that of the remaining crimson Haws. The collective noun for Goldfinch is a ‘charm’ - very fitting for their melodic ‘tinkling’ which is heard as they take flight, and follow one another into the sky.
I head down to the cliffs, past the high-pitched tweeting Dunnock, and a profusion of Meadow Pipits which seemingly appear from nowhere as they off on the wing.
Waves roll around the rocks at Tilly whim, incoming sets exploding into whitewater at they move East along the cliffs. Every so often the timing aligns for the water to surge into the seacave and erupt from the blowhole. Just off the shore, a couple Shags raft unphased by the chaos.
Woodpigeons watch on, perched above the quarried ledge. Beautiful shimmers of green and purple upon their neck feathers, even on such a drab day. More flocks race overhead.
I head along the clifftop following the call of the Guillemot trill. Their number are loosely spread across the messy sea, with a continuous flow of birds to and from the cliff. I don’t have my binoculars so it’s hard to work out if there is any Razorbill amongst them, identified by their blacker plumage and broader bill.
I’m watching the wonderful aerobics of the Fulmars, when the Sun finally appears. At first only through a faint break in the cloud, but enough to alight the wave crests. Then, a warm glow upon the hills, and shadows cast beyond the scrub.
Cracks have appeared upon the Clathrus ruber ‘egg’, creamy white goo now oozing from inside. More slimy fungus is found upon a nearby rotting Holm Oak stump: Wet Witches Butter seeping down onto brackets of Turkey Tail fungus below.