Tuesday the park’s beset by rain and wind
Scattered showers and gusts that take off hats
A ray of light shines where the clouds have thinned
Far from here where the rain still pitter pats
Dark cumulous clouds, just beginning to form towers were the first things I saw as I entered the park this morning. The screeching of several Jays added to this slightly foreboding scene.
I thought Large Copse would be a good first destination in case the rain decided to start. I was not disappointed. Old Man’s Beard draped the hedges, with a few Sycamores showing fresh green buds, the poor confused souls. The dry stone wall at the entrance had suffered a bit of damage, no doubt from our marauding Herefords. Another job for the list.
In Saxon field, a few intrepid Red Clover still dared to show colour in the otherwise drab environs, and a large puddle had formed over a patch of Plantain on the path. I hope they can swim.
Most of my stroll was lonely, with very few sightings to speak of. Except for corvids, those eternal fixtures of the landscape. If there’s ever a day I don’t see any Carrion Crows or Jackdaws, I’ll know there’s something very wrong in the world.
Passing above the Gully, I finally managed to pick up the faint hint of birdsong. A few tunes I didn’t recognise, as well as the clacking of a Stonechat and the chirrups of a Goldfinch. I knew there had to be at least one.
Heading down to the Lighthouse I came across a few Field Mushrooms and Common Puffballs which have been toughing out the cold nights, as well as a single Ox Eye Daisy. I played grandmother’s footsteps with a small flock of Great Tits in a shrub, which were energetically flitting around until I trained my binoculars on them, upon which they promptly hid. Finally, whilst ascending the mile marker slope I trained my binoculars on a familiar patch of scrub. I scanned for a while and eventually found what I was looking for, a flash of red amongst the branches of a Wild Apple tree. It’s still there.