Where shall we three meet again?
Methinks a desolate place
A moor, a heath, a clifftop plain
Where man leaves not a trace
Though calm and still we find it
A desolate place it be
Surely tis a perfect fit
For three souls such as we
The Woodlands were alive with sound as I entered this morning, the breaking dawn bringing with it a chorus of squeaky wheelbarrow sounds from Great Tits and a few Song Thrushes with a somewhat more varied setlist. Our Yellow Brain Fungus was still looking resplendent, now flanked by a few Dog’s Vomit Slime Moulds with which it should not be confused.
The Car Park supported a medley of Robins, Blackbirds and a few Field Blewits on the verges. Last night I caught the signature hoots of a Tawny Owl as I left the office, but this morning’s most noisy residents were Green Woodpeckers.
My voyage towards the Downlands was rather more sedate. I came across a few Shaggy Ink Caps, Egghead Mottlegills and Jelly Ear, but few avians. Though largely a mass of green, the meadows supported the occasional Lawn Daisy, as well as the ever-present yellow flowers of Gorse.
The stillness of the morning seemed amplified when I arrived at the Downlands, with scarcely a breeze to ruffle my hair. A few Jackdaws and Chaffinches patrolled the skies, and a quick detour to check on our Hereford Cattle revealed nothing amiss.
The Clifftops were also surprisingly barren. Traversing the path I recalled a conversation with Ali about how the landscape of Purbeck can appear quite desolate at times. I’m inclined to agree. As I passed the Tilly Whim caves life became decidedly more active, with Fulmars and Guillemots abundant, as well as our local bird man reporting Siskins and a Red Throated Diver. I don’t know how he can tell the colour under the wetsuit.