States of matter stretch and shift, they change like sock and buskin
Treacherous the ground can be, the ground we place our trust in
What once was firm can slip and slide, or stick and suck and swallow
A well trod road can soon implode into a muddy wallow
Then angles change with seasons and the chill sets in anew
The masks exchange and what was plastic firms up sure and true
The singsong of Blackbirds and rattles of Magpies heralded my entrance to Durlston today. The clearer skies afforded my first clear view of a sunrise since the new year, the warped orange sphere steadily unmelding with the horizon as I made my ascent through the Woodlands. My eyes shot up as I neared the apex of the bark chip path when I spied a Scarlet Elf Cup resting innocuously on a log. We’re happy to have you here my little chum.
Next I went to check on potential cattle escapees into South Field, but fortunately our containment measures were holding firm. Field Blewits and Brown Mottlegills nestled among the short grass, toughing out the winter cold with impressive fortitude.
I meandered down past the quarr towards the butterfly transect route, noting an out of place Ox Eye Daisy and the distant vocals of a Song Thrush. The track was muddy and only slightly firmed by the overnight touch of frost that had covered the more sheltered reaches of the park in a thin icy glaze. The breeze bit at the tips of my ears, instilling the first real sense of cold I’ve had in quite some time. Soft calls of Bullfinches emanated from concealed callers and after a few futile minutes of searching I moved on. I had better luck at the base of the Gulley, a Stonechat sitting in full view near the Wild Apple tree.
The morning sun had lit up the surface of the ocean with a brilliant glare, the light sloshing of the waves intermingling with the calls of Guillemots from the ledge. A Great Black Backed Gull drifted away to the west as I turned to examine the sunlit bank above the Tilly Whim Caves. There were no stirrings, it’s still too early.
Returning up the diagonal path, the distinct call of a Green Woodpecker rang out as I paused to examine the branch of a Sycamore tree. Green Shield Lichen grew in small clusters next to patches of Bird-Claw Beard Moss. These groups of organisms have long been confused with each other despite having very little in common beyond the superficial. We humans are good at that.