Standing still where birds do call
Holding fast with steady eyes
Scanning cross the treetops tall
For movement of a feathered guise
A flicker draws my focus
I raise dual lenses to lift the veil
Then fix upon the locus
And catch a fleeting flash of tail
Whilst I ponder what I saw
There comes a wiser man than I
Who tells me all that lies before
I know so little, but ever I try
Robins and Goldfinches called from all directions as I crossed the Car Park this morning. A few blooms of Red and White Clover nestled among the grass, as well as a patch or two of fern leaved Yarrow. Grey Squirrels were scuttling up and down the trunks of Holm Oaks as I made my way to the castle. A steady rhythmic clacking sound alerted me to the presence of some Nordic Walkers, with a low rumble beyond them signalling the arrival of a pair of Electricians. Both are early risers and you generally need to be up around sunrise to see them.
Beyond the Castle I perched on the wall of Caravan Terrace for a few minutes of birdwatching. I am a rank amateur at this practice, but Katie informed me the trick is “to find a place with birds, then wait there for a while.” So I gave it a go. I caught a few Great Tits on a Blackthorn, then a Wren amid the Wild Clematis beside them. Blackbirds and Chaffinches perched in a Sycamore above and I raised my binoculars to track a pair of small forms amid the foliage. I suspected they were Goldcrests, but I couldn’t get a clear enough view to be sure. At this point a far more veteran birdwatcher arrived on the scene. He confirmed my Goldcrest sighting by sound alone, then went on to point out a Firecrest further up (no binoculars needed on his part). I suspect birdwatching is like all great pursuits, an hour to learn, a lifetime to master.
I passed on to the Great Globe, noting a looming bank of Stratocumulus rolling in from the north east. It was dark grey, and its underside dissolved into a mass of fog that blanketed the terrain beneath. Striking. Closer to home a little Red Valerian was still in flower beside the Globe, which supported its usual dusting of lichen. I think the yellow one is Candelariella medians, but I’m far from an expert. Down by the Cliffs a Peregrine Falcon alighted in the warmth of the morning sun, its features unmistakable even to my untrained eye.