Weather: Hot, bright, with a cool light wind.
Our dry spell remains unbroken, with the sun shining brightly across an endless blue sky. It’s 8am, but it may as well be midday as the meadows rattle, buzz and hum with activity. Six Burnet Moths suck nectar from the Greater Knapweed, and Woolly Thistles are ready to burst into colour from their Fibonacci sprical of spines. In the drove a single Blackbird dives into the hedge. Meadow Brown, Marbled White and Small Skipper butterflies dance around the sweet flowers of Honeysuckle and Elder. I remember my ice cubes of homemade elderflower cordial at home, I could very much do with a refreshing glass right now!
High in the sky, male Skylarks sing proudly, whilst the females flit about low in the meadow amongst the bright yellow Melilot. A small charm of Goldfinches chat away nearby. Our Herefords are hard at work on the downs, munching away at the tall Grasses, and making way for wildflowers, such as the tiny bright pockets of Wild Thyme and Eyebright I spot atop some Ant hills. I count most of the cows, and have faith that the rest hidden amongst the scrub - a relief to see them in the right place for once!
From the lighthouse I lower down over the cliffs to find a climb I had done the night before last. I hear it first. The boom of the waves crashing into the cave and echoing up through the small opening at the top. The climb had been made a lot easier with the hot weather drying out the salty limestone, but peering into the crevice, it’s dark, damp and cool. A micro-climate compared to the dry cracked soils and baked rocks above.
Three Black-backed Gulls pass in convoy, where the other day I had seen a Peregrine mob some Rock Doves whilst abseiling down to the sea. I spot an Ammonite I have never seen before, frozen in time. It’s hard to picture the solid cliffs as part of an ever-changing landscape, but I wonder how they looked 500, 5000 years ago? Guillemot’s race out to sea, busy supplying an endless supply of food to their ever-hungry chicks on the ledge. As I make my return up the hill, I check upon the Bee orchids which have gone over for the year and marking the end of June. Where has the time gone?