Old rope once was valuable, now it’s floating free
Disposal bears a greater cost than burial at sea
This rope was granted liberty to float with surging swells
The freedom to ensnare all those with fins and gills and shells
Taking the tarmac clad path of least resistance into the park this morning, I passed stems of Common Broomrape jutting from among the leaf litter at the sides of the road. Light rain was falling, with the atmosphere uncannily quiet, a trend that would continue for the rest of the morning. Fresh shoots of Yarrow bore white flowers in the car park alongside their fellow umbellifer Wild Carrot. Take a closer look next time you pass one, many are hosting small clusters of Soldier Beetles this time of year.
Venturing briefly under cover of the Woodlands, I snapped a photograph of a suspected Rooting Bolete, freshly emerged from the soil. Hopefully this heralds a fresh wave of fungal sightings. Beside the listening seat a Wild Apple leaned at an extremely jaunty angle, the skeletal crutch of a Holm Oak limb buttressing it against the wrath of gravity.
Next I took myself down to Caravan Terrace, also eerily quiet but for the sound of Blackbirds tusseling among the leaves. A Magpie’s call made me start a little, the rattle stopping abruptly as if the caller had experienced a sudden bout of self-consciousness. A young Wayfaring Tree sapling was sprouting up amongst the ground cover of Yorkshire Fog, Self-Heal and Wood Sage. On the other side Common Toadflax and Ribwort Plantain were the predominant species. I pinballed my way from side to side, noting Restharrow and Enchanters Nightshade before reaching the end.
Continuing down the Clifftop Trail past Creeping and Sow Thistle I caught a glimpse of a Kestrel riding the wind by the observation point. After a few experimental manoeuvres it landed again, deftly flaring its wings before touching down on a rocky crag. Further down a Peregrine Falcon remained perched, declining to take flight into the dull morning sky. The Guillemots were rather sedate as well, having vacated the ledge and with scarce a dozen or so on the water.
After retrieving a bundle of rope from Tilly Whim brought in by the tide I turned towards the only consistent bird song I had heard so far that morning, the steady clacking of Stonechats from the Gulley. My footsteps startled a few Meadow Brown butterflies into drunken wakefulness, performing the aeronautical equivalent of a stagger into the sky. It seems that mornings are much the same throughout the animal kingdom.