I’ve never seen a youthful Gorse
It seems they are born old
Born dry and spiky from their source
Somewhere beneath the wold
Perhaps not old, but rather timeless
The Gorse shows age nor prime
The yellow blooms serve to remind us
We may flower at any time
A trio of Robins were gently conversing as I set out this morning, seeming to take turns with short snatches of song before allowing the next their say. The entire sky was obscured by a thick blanket of stratiform cloud.
I headed down towards the Castle, passing a patch of rich red Dogwood inhabited by a few Blue Tits. Dogwood is a traditional base material for Christmas wreaths. If you’d like to see some fine examples then come try our Christmas trail, with questions and prizes for both children and adults.
In the woods beside the Castle I made a quick missive for fungi. In addition to the still prolific Grey Coral Fungi and a few scattered Deceivers, a fresh cluster of Glistening Ink Caps had emerged.
Down on Caravan Terrace a small charm of Goldfinches flew overhead, too fast and high for my binoculars, but their calls gave them away. I surveyed the latest works in the Dell, leaves of Ivy and Hartstongue Fern spread wide and drinking in the limited sunlight.
A Shag was duck diving in Durlston Bay, while Jackdaws and Herring Gulls rode the gentle breeze in the skies above the cliffs. I trained my binoculars on a distant form and saw a Peregrine Falcon lifting off into the skies, gently cruising into the oncoming wind before turning and disappearing from view.
Passing the Lighthouse I made my way up the Milepost Slope, noting some young Gorse in rich flower. I find it hard to contemplate young Gorse. It looks like it’s born old. From somewhere within a patch of Blackthorn I heard the clack of a Stonechat, the short, sharp staccato call emanating from an unseen source.