Author Archives: aeolianwhispers

At the end of a day

14 Thursday May 2015

Posted by in bats, birds, dusk, nature

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There is a calm that takes over the garden as dusk approaches.

The birds, having fed enough to keep them through another night, head off to their roosts. Their song becomes quieter, until only the occasional alarm call from the blackbirds are still heard.

The brightly coloured butterflies of the day disappear, and are replaced by the more subdued, patchwork shades of the moths.

As the light continues to dim,  the shrubs and trees become dark and slightly menacing and the cool air whispers quietly through their leaves.

There, in the half light, like a pause in these sounds, silent wings deploy.

Bats, with their inaudible calls, dip and dive over the surface of the garden ponds. They follow the garden hedgerows,  organised like banquet tables laid out for summer feasting. Feeding on many of the insectivorous garden raiders that would otherwise make short work of our neatly planted flower borders.

I cannot help but think there is something quite incongruent with our image of bats, for it is more likey that they feed upon those bugs which perpertrate those eery “bumps in the night” that disturb our sleep and feed our nightmares. They feast upon the gnats and mosquitos, the true flying phlebotomists that leave us plagued with those red, itchy lumps as they congregate around our outside lights or blunder in through our windows should we opt to leave them open to the summers’ night air.

Then, as the dusk darkens the shadows into night, the gentle “Hoo” of the male Tawney Owl, coupled with the short “ker-wick” call of the female is perhaps one of  the most familiar sound to come out of the darkness. The magical, soporific sound that conjures images from the  tales and stories of childhood. When heard from our beds it draws us in, enticing us to close to ours eyes, allowing sleep to envelope us and lead us to our dreams.

Through the window on a cold, grey day.

12 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by in nature, ornithology

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It was a cold, grey day but the birds didn’t seem to mind and whilst I didn’t manage to get out for much of a walk, I was at least able to sit a while and watch them through the window.

Back Garden Blackbird 3Piebald(the leucistic Blackbird), of course, was there. the garden wouldn’t be quite the same without him.

Then there were the two magpies who appear to have set up home in my neighbours large leylandii trees. I used to get frustrated by the way they block the sunlight toward the end of summer. At this time of year the sun is lower in the sky, so it is less of a problem. But this year, the promise of the Magpies nesting, and also the recent arrival of a couple of crows has endeared them to me and I am glad they are still there.

They also offer space for the pigeons, Even though many people aren’t too keen on them, I find even they have their charm. The Collard Doves are elegant, whilst the Wood piegeons amble around in a strange combination of strutting and bumbling, which can make them rather endearing.

The Greenfinches dropped by frequently to take advantage of the feeders stocked with sunflower seeds, whilst the Chaffinches waited below for tidbits that drop down. The ever present sparrow chattered noisily from the hedgerow, flitting across regularly to both the feeders and the fat balls.

The blue tits are currently feeding on bugs which seem to be plaguing the the willow buds. Whilst the great tits seem to prefer the easier meal from the fat balls, which they share with the sparrows.

The Changing Facets of Wind

19 Thursday Mar 2015

Posted by in nature, poetry

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A whisper through the trees tells of tales,

Of a rustle at the nudge of summer breeze,

Then disconnect from branch in autumns rage,

This is how the wind doth know the leaves.

LIfting voices through the woods it goes

Notes that tumble like the drops of water in a stream,

Carrying the songs of birds to all who hear

A beauty that allows us chance to dream.

But when onward into winter heads the wind,

Then by drifting flakes of snow together makes it known

For those who doubt the power of the earth,

Through the wind it is that we are shown

The vagaries of Spring

18 Wednesday Mar 2015

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The morning had started with the smallest hint of sunshire, in a sky which was a whiter shade of grey to the one which persisted through the rest of the day. Inspired by that tiny glimpse of sun peaking out from behind the cloud I decided to take a chance and head out.

The air temperature was strikingly cold, despite the assurance of the weatherman that was to be no frost through the night. I thrust my hands deep into my pockets to try to protect them. The dog, as ever, trotted along seemingly oblivious of any such discomfort. I redirected my attention to the sounds of the birds coming from all around me. The Robin, the easiest to identify, was less easy to spot. Partially obscured by the dense thicket I finally spotted the familiar red breast, brown coat and silver waistcoat. Moving on, I then singled out the familiar notes of a Blackbird. Easier by far to spot, high up in the top branches. Through binoculars I could make out the early buds which had yet to break open. In the garden the Elder tree had already started to unfurl tiny green leaves, but here in the upper most branches the cold air kept the buds closed tight.

Making our way down the path, taking in the songs of the Wrens, the Blue tits and the Great tits as we went, I was saddend to note that the celandines had not made an appearence here yet. In the garden they shone like brilliant yellow stars and their heart shaped mottled green and white leaves really created a sense that spring was well underway. But here the verges were devoid of all but the remants of last years grasses and bare soil beneath the hedges. I decided to head to the edge of the woods, down by the bog in the hope that the sun may well have enticed some of the spring flowers out there.

Birds in the rain…

11 Wednesday Mar 2015

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March this year started with ‘changeable’ weather. The morning started with blue skies and bright sunshine, but by the end of the afternoon lightening flashed and thunder roared and hail battered on my back door.

But this did not impede the wonderful array of birds that flitted in and out of my garden during the day.

The Sallow half way down the garden flexed and strained in the wind. The primroses pale yellow petals stood out from the dark brown of the bare soil beneath it. Tiny green leaf peaks from the bulbs pushed up from under the covering of last years leaves next to the path, heralding in the spring. Blue tits and Great tits scoured the branches for any tasty morsel that might be hidden under the bark or in the buds. Supplimenting this with the peanuts and fat cakes from the feeders.

A charm of goldfinches dropped in to take advantage of the niger seeds in the feeder at the upper end of the garden, by the hedge. Distinctive with their red face masks, their black hoods and their gold wing bars. Whilst the Greenfinches headed for the sunflower hearts in the feeders hanging from the side of the arch which divides the garden between the fruit and flower borders and the wild flower meadow and wildlife area. There were Dunnocks and a Chaffinch feeding beneath, picking up the crumbs that dropped from above.

There were also two home made feeders made from old flower pots hanging in the Elder tree by the house The female black cap had discovered them and had been making regular visits through the winter and more recently a pair of coal tits have also been visiting them.

The tree also hosted the parliament of sparrows which congregated noisily in the early morning and then again in the late afternoon. They made use of the feeding station in front of my dinning room window, using the seed dispenser and searching the ground and the plant pots for any stray seeds that might have drifted down or come in on the wind. They were joined by the two resident Robins and the leucistic Blackbird which was also a regular visitor. The latter were more interested in the mealworms which I have been putting out over the winter – and they all take advantage of the fat cakes which are hung, in cages, on the low wooden fence.

The leucistic BlackbirdSpring In Shropshire 004t

Back Garden Treasures 004And one of the resident Robins

A walk to the woods, past the marsh …

23 Monday Feb 2015

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It was a cold, stark day. The sky was no more than altering shades of white and grey, no hint of the sun. Although not as cold as it had been a few weeks earlier, the sombre mood made me shiver and pull up the collar of my rain jacket.

The dog barely seemed to notice, she just trotted alongside me with her usual jaunty step, just glad to once again be out of the house. She always looked happy when she was outdoors.

We made our way along the foot path, through the underpass and on towards the marsh beyond.

By the Water, frosty

There was a stream that ran through the reedbeds. It passed under a small foot bridge and gurgled its way further down towards the road. I stood for a while, watching the tumbling waves as they criss-crossed each other. The water is clear in summer and you can see the rocks and mud on the bottom of the ditch. But now, with the recent rains and wind, the water had become murky brown and I couldn’t make out anything beyond the surface.

Finally I raised my eyes from the mesmerising water and looked up over towards the reed beds. There was a stillness about the place today and I realised I had not heard a single bird since I stopped. The dog was waiting patiently for me to move on. I obliged.

Heading through the broken fence we arrived at the tree which grew on the edge of the stream.

The Mishapen Tree III

It was old and mishapen. Several of the branches had been lost to the weather in prior years. But it was a good brace to lean my back on when trying to manipulate either binoculars or camera.  Today I had bought binoculars, the cold air would have raised the risk of camera shake and the need to remove gloves did not appeal either.

I waited for some time, the air gently swayed the heads of the bullrushes. The sound, like a sighing breath, reached my ears and I closed my eyes and let it envelop me. As I closed my eyes and focused on the sound the cold seemed to fall away slightly. I opened my eyes and took in the scene – the milky white and the pale green of the winter reed bed. The light shimmering on the surface of the water. I was so engrossed that the sound of mallard shook me with a jolt. My head swung round at the sound, just in time to see the culpret dodge behind a clump of dense grass on the edge of the water.

Finally I pushed my back away from the trunk of the tree and made my way around the back of the reed beds to get a better view. After a while I could make out the slow, stealthy movements of a moorhen, gently making its way in and out of the tall rushes. Its head dipping up and down as it plucked small morsels of food from the water, I wondered what it was eating at this time of year. The seeds from the autumn were likely all eaten by now, and the temperature didn’t seem conducive to insects being out and about. I assumed the mud would offer some warmth for the bugs to allow them to survive.

Finally there was bird song – a robin had arrived in the branches of the tree I had been leaning on earlier. As if announcing the onset of spring he sang with a melodious string that seemed to dance through the air. The cadence rose and fell, and I watched as he stetched his head toward the unforgiving sky and showed off his red breast with pride. He seemed a robust little fellow, he certainly gave the impression he’d had little trouble finding food through the Winter. His feathers were all primed, the brown on his back and the silver edging to his red waistecoat all spoke well of his condition. He was certainly a catch for any female that should happen by or be drawn by the strength of his song.

It was some time after when the great tits arrived. Three in all. At a guess I would have to say two males, each trying to impress the girl. They had made their way from the far side of the field via the upper most branches of the trees. Each of the males making their way by flying slightly beyond the other, like some impromptu game, then raising their voice to seranade the object of their attention. She, on the other hand, seemed to be paying little attention to either. She simply flitted between them, searching the branches for some poor, unsuspecting bug on which to feed. These three were also in fine breeding plumage. The black shiny, the yellow bright and bold in its contrast. I watched their game for some while, until finally, having come all the way past the edge of the river, they headed back toward the copse at the far edge of the reed beds.

The robin too had moved on by then and the moorhen had managed to hide herself back among the reeds. All was quiet again. The dog had snuffled and explored all along the edge of the stream, and around the edges of the reed bed. Her feet betrayed where she had gone just a little too far into the mud. Now she had flopped down by feet and lay, tongue lolling,, waiting for me to finish my  survey of the area. She looked up at me as I dropped my arms and let my binoculars fall away from my eyes. Looking down I marvelled at her patience.

Moving away from the reed beds we made out way back along the hedgerow towards the copse. I was hoping that, within the warmth of the tree, I might fare better. I heard the trill of a blackbird as we passed, he dodged into a tangle of hawthorne that made up part of the hedgerow and disappeared from sight. As we came close to the copse I could hear a chorus of songs. All together they were difficult to identify, but as I listend I began to make out some of the individual phrases and recognise a familiar refrain or two.

The Great tits were there, as were a couple of blue tits. A small flock of long tailed tits adorned the upper branches of the alder trees, and there were a couple of robins up there too. The blackbirds and thrushes were conspicuous by their abscence – as they had most been most of the winter. But somewhere, way beyond the trees came the high pitched call of a buzzard.

Further in, where the light became dimmer, the temperature rose slightly. The wind stirred restlessly through the branches and it’s sighs and rustles seem to come from all directions. The gentle cooing of the wood pigeons and the collard doves had a palliative effect as I walked through the woods. The soft earth beneath my feet made no further sound and I became lost in that strange twilight world full of half light and silhouetted trees.

All too soon I came out into the harsh grey light and the sting of the temperature shocked me from my reverie. We headed back down the path to where we had entered, the dog trotting along beside me once again. Passing through the woods she had headed off the track and into the shrubs. Snuffling through the leaves and investigating the myriad of smells and trails that crossed through the undergrowth. But now her attention was focused ahead of her, as if her thoughts had turned to the warmth and comfort of home which awaited her at the end of this final part of our journey.

This Moment In Time

22 Sunday Feb 2015

Posted by in mindfulness, nature

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I stood with my eyes closed and felt myself sink into the landscape. It was as if  I was being absorbed and had become part of it, along with the trees and the grass. The song of the birds filled my ears, drawing me in further and filling my head with their notes. My feet became part of the ground, the grass surrounded each foot as if it had grown up around them. I felt the age in the trees that stood beside me, the scars of the seasons etched into their bark and felt their roots as they stretched out and sought new soil underground.

A myriad of noises filled my head, from the rustle and squeak of the mice and the voles, to the rasp and scrape of the insects as they chewed their way through dead wood and rotting leaves. The dead and dying supporting the living as, in my mind, I could see the vast expance of the fungal web as it criss crossed through the soil, connecting all which was contained within it.  As a breeze passed through the leaves high up in the canopy, the sound lead my eyes up toward the sky. I was mesmerised by the subtle changes in the light and the alternating shades of green as the leaves stirred gently in the movement of the air.

Never before had I been more engaged with the landscape around me. I had walked through these woods so many times, but I had never encountered it quite like this before. I had stopped and listened to the bird song before but never before had I truly experienced it as I did now. I had seen the trees, but not really felt their presence as I did at this moment.

As I breathed in, the scent of the wood filled my senses. As the breath seeped through me I experience the urgency of a million fleeting movements pass me by. This somehow mixed with an overwhelming sense of calm and stillness as if from the trees and the rocks, as they stood witness to the passing of aeons of time.

On a cold and frosty morning…

28 Wednesday Jan 2015

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It was cold, but bright. The sun shone from a clear blue sky and the ground was covered with shining slithers of white ice which coated both grass and tree branches. I shivered in the cold as I left the copse and made my way across the expanse of field ahead of me.

Behind me the weight of my footfall had left a visable indent in the frost, but there were no other prints. I couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed. I had hoped to spot signs that other critters had passed this way – birds maybe, or rabbits even. But there were none. The sky was equally empty, no birds seemed to be flying this morning either. I plodded on, shoulders hunched against the cold.

The ground started to incline as I got closer to the far edge of the field. The short, cropped grass gave way to long, straggly fronds which were now stiff and dead. Back in the summer these had been lush and swayed majestically in the breezes, but the turning of the season and the cold temperatures had changed all that. Brown and broken stalks, all tangled and many laying on the ground, were now glittered and sparkling in the Winter frost. I headed up the hill, pushing my way through the grass as it tangled around at my legs and tugged at my ankles. The longer grass gave cover for small mammals and birds. There were rustles and random shaking of some of the stalks. I hoped this was not simply air currents. I slowed my pace and started to place my feet with care, trying to make as little disturbance as possible. But still the critters evaded my sight.

Half way up I finally caught a break. The wind brought me the a familiar sound, the unmistakable call of a buzzard. I turned and looked up into the sky. It wheeled and crossed over the side of the hill, watching the ground beneath. He stayed for only a very short while before he rose higher and headed off over the hill and out of sight.

An introduction, cut short by the weather

20 Tuesday Jan 2015

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I sat looking through the window. The dog curled up beside me looked sideways in my direction as if to remind me that I had to venture out sometime today. I sipped my tea trying to decide how cold it might be. Was it time for the thick winter warmth or could I still managed with just enough to keep off the rain. The bulkiness of winter clothes makes it difficult to take pictures or make notes whilst out, but sometimes the seeping cold was itself enough to prevent my fingers from negotiating even those simplest of tasks. I looked again. The sky was blue with some clouds, mainly white but with just enough grey to suggest a promise of a winter shower or two. A typical winter sun, there were no shafts of sunlight, but it gave off a brightness that seemed to reflect off the sky in all directions.

I pulled on my boots and the dog instantly became animated, Jumping off the couch she let out a long howl, as if calling to all in the neighbourhood to let them know we were on our way. Pacing between me, as I laced my boots, and the front door next to which her lead hung, she whined excitedly. Finally we were ready. I opted for just a waterproof storm coat and,  stuffing my notebook into my pocket, we headed out the door.

The cold air slapped my face as a reminder that winter was well underway, although thankfully there was no wind. I could hear the notes of  birdsong ricocheting in all directions making it difficult to pin down any single refrain or put a name to any individual author.

The path between the hedgerows adjacent to the road had been swept clean. Sadly there was still the ever present littering of beer cans and fast food wrappings. But it was not as bad as I had seen it in the past. Keeping my eyes on the branches of the trees I watched the birds.

Passing by the cheekiest sparrow who simply watched as we walked by, my head almost level with where he sat within the tangle of the branches. He didn’t budge, just remained completely still, all fluffed up against the winter chill.
In the bleak mid winter
A robin sang from the upper branches. The melodious notes tumbled like water droplets cascading over a waterfall, down to my ears, before being carried away on the breeze. I stood for several minutes listening with delight to the sound.

Carrying on down the path and on into the park a different set of characters appeared. Within the park the trees were much higher and there the flocks of tits playing among the branches. The Great tit who wouldn’t stick to just a single refrain. With this deliberate ploy, he made an  effort to confuse and disarm his competitors, trying to give the impression that there were more birds present then there really were. Thus encouraging them to search elsewhere for a suitable site to build this years nest. I watched him, in his bright colours of yellow and black, he cut a dashing figure as he flitted from tree to tree calling out his ruse.

The smaller Blue tits were still in their flocks. They gave rise to a constant chatter as they twisted around the branches and chased each other from tree to tree and down into the underlying shrubs. The Blackbirds, too, were still in their winter gatherings. Although it became obvious that even within the group some, at least, were already paired up. They scattered through the shrubs and vocalised their shrill warning of intruders as we approached.

The dog ran through the undergrowth, sniffing and snuffling through the carpet of last years leaves. Every so often she would lift her head and look round, checking that I was still in view. We appeared to be the only ones venturing out today for we passed not one other soul as strolled slowly through the park.

Just as we got to the furthest point the sky changed. The blue was overtaken with dark, slate coloured cloud, the breeze picked up and an ominous cold suddenly descended like a blanket. I shivered and waited for the inevitable.

Slowly, at first, the tiny white frozen balls hit the ground. As more fell a wind picked up,  gusting and propelling the hail like natures bullets, stinging where it made contact with bare skin. Pulling my hood up over my head I turned my back to the wind and started back towards home, the pumelling at my back and the gusting wind helped to increase my pace.