Weather: Grey and cool
Outlook: Potential thunderstorms this afternoon
The sky is overcast and the air is fresh; the wind carrying with it an expectation of rain to come. I love the feel of a storm brewing; it’s electric, anticipatory, a joy to be out in.
I can name three trees in Latin: Field Maple Acer campestre, Sycamore Acer pseudoplatanus, and Holm Oak Quercus ilex. I watch all three this morning as they dance their leaves, a slow shiver in the rising wind, the hushing noise hypnotic. Below the cliffs on which I walk sea waves crashed into rock. Herring Gulls take to the sky, calling from above the trees. Along the path Woody Nightshade and Herb Robert show flashes of purple and pink amongst the greens of the Male Fern, Hart’s Tongue and Ivy. A Blackbird hops along the path ahead of me, and a Magpie flutters through the trees and over the wall, the white of its wings flashing.
Long Meadow is a burst of colour – all yellows and purples and green – after the muted tones of the woods. Common Spotted Orchids, Southern Marsh Orchid, and the oddly named Red Clover are speckles of purple in amongst a sea of greens and browns - more grasses and sedges than I could possibly name. Meadow Buttercups sway their golden heads. Giant puff balls of Goat’s Beard, so delicate, look ready to scatter about in the next breeze. Two Blue Tits call to one another from across the meadow, a lovely happy sound.
I spot a ‘Belle Etoile’ or Mock Orange bush, near the castle, its closed white buds looking like miniature roses. At the Lookout, I watch the cheeky Jackdaws as the fly around the cliffs, abruptly calling out “Jack. Jack.”, making me smile. Their steely-grey eyes captivating. A Rock Pipit calls out, drawing my attention. The first one I’ve seen, as it flutters around the clifftop, lands, takes wing again.
The sea is filled with the black and white shapes of Guillemots and Razorbills, bobbing atop the waves. My solo Shag sits once again alone on his outcrop, looking out towards the horizon. I wonder what he thinks of, so solemnly, this early in the day.
Diary written by Rosaline McGraffin