The roaring of the mighty ocean fills the morning air
It’s roiled and churned for aeons and it still has strength to spare.
The sound of the ocean was a constant companion to today’s morning patrol. A single Carrion Crow was perched atop an Ash in the car park, it’s rasping call ringing out in between the rattling of Magpies. A pair of Blue Tits darted between hawthorns, one after the other.
Across Long Meadow the distant cackle of a group of circling Jackdaws was accompanied by the trills of a Robin. The hedge contained a small Sycamore with very prominent buds, hopefully soon to unfurl.
Passing through the woodland there was little birdsong. The wind rose and the sound of rustling Holm Oaks grew louder. The noise blended with the sound of the ocean in the background, the two becoming different to distinguish. Then the wind gusted and the volume of the rustling increased further, completely drowning out the sounds of the sea.
Looping back towards the castle I passed a series of Harts-tongue Ferns nestled in cracks in the dry stone walls that lined the path. Here I heard a mysterious, unidentifiable birdsong, a kind of creaky, squeaking tone. After a few seconds I located the source of the sound; a Willow branch rubbing against a Sycamore trunk, the bark worn away at the point of contact. I felt a little awkward at making such an error, but fortunately no one was around to see.
Along the Clifftop path the Guillemot raft was gone, and the ledge empty. The cliffs seemed much less lively now, with a few Herring Gulls and Greater Black Backed Gulls the only residents this morning. Just as I turned to leave I caught a Rock Pipit flitting by out of the corner of my eye.