The world is shrouded deep in white, the earth sets hard and dry
Time slows to a crawl
Life is held in thrall
Waiting for the storm to pass by
We stand at the confluence of Storm Emma and the so called “Beast from the East”, creating some very bracing conditions for a morning patrol. It’s not so bad if you’re out of the wind and are wearing at least three coats. A few sporadic flurries of snow added to the atmosphere as I set out.
The park was eerily quiet as I struck out for Large Copse, with barely a single Robin audible above the sound of crashing waves and wind. No animal life was visible outside the occasional Wood Pigeon dwelling in the branches, or making a short airborne foray. Something had dug into the bark chip path, with a deep excavation in the centre. A Rabbit perhaps? The log boarder was smattered with a layer of Rosy Crust, which was in turn covered with an icy crust. Appropriate.
Saxon Field was equally quiet, with nary a stir to be seen on land or air. The Yellow Meadow Ant nests were my only company as I crossed. These structures extend several times further underground than they do above, where the temperature is much more constant. The industrious ant’s toils through summer pay well for them now.
I decided to embark on a voyage to the new land today, and set a brisk pace past a few Hawthorns still smattered with berries, as well as fruiting Ivy plants and the eternally flowering Gorse. Where there is food, there will be animals. Also on display were several Ash trees, the black nubs on the tips of their branches just starting the transformation to leaves. They were still tightly coiled though, a wise decision considering the circumstances. Act in haste, repent at leisure.
Returning via the Downlands, the flash of a black tipped wing caught my eye. A Kestrel was making a short flight along the hedgerow. No hovering in the wind today, it’d probably freeze solid if it tried. Continuing on under empty skies I made it to Hogget Mead, where I was pleased to hear the two tone call of a Great Tit. Only one today, when there were dozens this time last week. Life on Earth exists on a knife edge and if you move out of a tiny range of temperatures it almost ceases to be. Today, everything is holding its breath and waiting. Nothing living flourishes, it merely endures.
On the Clifftops I couldn’t believe my luck at the sighting of a second Kestrel sweeping around the Cliffside. Beside the Tilly Whim Caves a Cormorant fluttered overhead, but there were no Adders to be seen. The cold is especially hard for them. Every year 10%-15% of Adders go to sleep for the winter and never wake up. I imagine they appreciate the warmth of the sun in a way we never can.