Today the skies are filled with wings
Of every shape and size
Some creatures float as if on strings
And some struggle to rise
Some wings are painted many colours
Some wings are dull and grey
Each pair of wings like all the others
Takes its owner, up-up and away
The sky this morning was covered with a perfect 8/8 of low, grey stratocumulus this morning. Much more appropriate weather for a true British summer. Chiffchaffs, Wrens and Great Tits could all be heard from outside the Learning Centre, with a Green Woodpecker passing like a blur in front of me as I made my way to the Castle. I passed a trio of Grey Squirrels who were scuffling on the tarmac. A Carrion Crow called from an Ash tree overhead and all three froze stock still, holding their statue like poses for several seconds before they were satisfied there was no danger.
Red Valerian was in vivid flower alongside resplendent purple Buddleia that usually serves as a magnet for butterflies. There were none alighting at the time, but I resolved to check again later. In the Woodlands I heard a rustle of leaves and trained my binoculars on a Roe Deer browsing amongst the understory. A second rustle alerted me to the true source of the sound, a Blackbird playing among the leaf litter. The deer was completely silent.
Next I strolled along the clifftops, taking in the sights of the Jurassic Coastline and Bournemouth beyond. I once saw a speech by a businessman who said he measured his success by the number of cranes along the skyline of the cities he worked in. By that measure, Bournemouth is quite prosperous.
No cranes to be found at Durlston, but abundant Tamarisk and Holm Oak, both looking healthy and slightly smug in the midst of all the dry weather. A Whitethroat was calling from atop a Dog Rose, with a nearby Dunnock competing for airtime. A few unusually acrobatic Guillemots wheeled close to the cliffs, their little wings flapping madly. I was also treated to that rare and delightful sight of a Shag gliding, the poor creature maintaining its height for a few seconds before sinking like a stone.
I heard the distinctive Ke-Ke-Ke of a Kestrel before I saw the creature, gliding much more successfully than another bird I could name. Marbled Whites also fluttered through the air, and as I turned to ascend the diagonal path a Painted Lady settled on the ground. All of these attractive Lepidoptera are migrants, being unable to stand the British winter. Grockles, the lot of em.