Tag Archives: nature

So, it’s a New Year

07 Sunday Jan 2024

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So are you enjoying the beauty of Winter, anticipating the coming of Spring?

Though some may say; that seasons come and seasons go

And there is nothing new to bring!

One year leads to another, and the cycle just goes on and on.

Some people hear only the croak and caw of the Corvids,

but not the Robins song.

Do you see the arrival of snow, like a white blanket over the land?

And do you find yourself in awe of the beauty,

where Jack Frost has laid his hand?

Or do you just feel the cold and see only disruptions all around?

And do you curse that ice beneath your feet, the slipping and the sliding,

and the falling to the ground?

Have you marvelled at the Snowdrops, like a herald of the spring?

As they silently unfurl, like tiny pearls of hope, and the Crocuses that catch your eye,

as if natures carefully colouring in.

But do you also see the rubbish, in our hedges and our streets?

The paper and the plastic,

That amasses at our feet?

Do you simply discard all that packaging, you bought your fast food in?

Or are you the type of person,

who puts rubbish in a bin?

Will THIS YEAR bring the changes, that our Earth so badly needs?

Those promised changes in our habits?

Is it possible achieve?

Can we not see that we should not have ‘digital clouds’ to contain all our data?

And that the saving of water and energy

Simply cannot wait ’till later?

It is not just our selfish species that calls this planet home

So how long before we finally learn,

We can’t survive here on our own!

Friday …

17 Friday Jul 2015

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I walked out into the still, sultry air. The overcast sky threatened rain. But by the time we had reached the path the clouds had broken up, patches of blue sky were visible and a breeze stirred the air. The sun was skulking behind the veil of cloud, but it’s warmth still permeated the air.

I walked, shutting out the sound of traffic and other people along the path. Paying attention only to the movements from within the branches of the trees, among the leaves of the hedgerows and to the little dog that trotted along by my side.

It barely seemed to take any time at all to reach the marsh meadow. Entering through the gate, avoiding the nettles, I was greeted to the flurry of butterflies as they danced along the top of the grasses, seeking out wild flowers to feed on.

The sky seemed devoid of the Sand Martins which had been present a few days ago. But as I watched I saw two herons pass along the top of the tree line and came in to land at the far end of the marsh. From the meadow side I couldn’t see them once they were below the line of the trees.

We carried on across the meadow. the butterflies continued their dance and blackbirds and sparrows chattered away their vantage points in the hedgerow.  At the end of the field I could hear a robin singing from the taller trees that lined the path through the woods. We headed out of the meadow and into lane that took us into the woods. As I walked I took in the calmness of the day, as the dappled sunshine, which now streaked through the branches of the trees. lit the path ahead enticing us further into the trees.

Taking the path that lead down the incline, we made out way to the edge of the marsh, to the point I had seen the herons landing earlier. I didn’t get to see the herons again, but I had forgotten how lovely this corner was. Being at the bottom of the slope I rarely bother heading down that way in the wetter weather because it becomes too slippery to negotiate. But as it was warm and reasonably dry under foot, I decided to follow the lower path along the edge of the water to the exit.  It led us out at the bottom of the stairs,  onto the path which led behind the houses  and over the little bridge.

On our way past the steam  I heard the call of a coot, although couldn’t see it. The rushes were tall and the overhanging trees shielded most of what went on from the disturbance of people using the path.

Today, from my garden …

30 Tuesday Jun 2015

Posted by in birds, flowers, gardens, nature, ornithology

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It’s been such a beautiful day. It started with the bluest sky and brightest sun and the air was filled with the whistles and screams of the Swifts, as they wheeled and dived high above my head.

As I looked around the garden the colours seemed so bright they almost seemed to shimmer and the blooms appeared to bow their heads, as if in greeting.

It was a day for sitting, for watching and for immersing yourself into the landscape and as I sat I could hear the birdsong as a soundtrack all around me.

The scalding trill of the Robin and the shrill cry of the Blackbird alerting everyone to the stranger in their midst.

The chatter and gossip of the Sparrows, which suddenly got louder and more urgent, as squabbling broke out and several of the males vied for their rightful place within their social circles.

The lawn had been cut. The Blackbird and Chaffinch took full advantage as they foraged in the short grass and probed down deep into the soil.

The water from the hose had dislodged many of the bugs from their hiding places under leaves, the  Sparrows and Robin feasted on them in the borders.

The Goldfinches and Greenfinches lined up in the bushes, noisily waiting their turn for access to the newly filled feeders of Sunflower and Niger seeds. And the Blue Tits, Coal Tits and Great Tits surreptitiously flitted to and fro, their beaks full from the fat balls and suet cakes hanging from the arch half way down the garden.

Beyond the arch, the mini meadow. Sown with wild flowers to draw in the bees and the butterflies. It appears to be working! The Bees hummed loudly as they went about their task of collecting pollen and taking advantage of the supply of free nectar. The butterflies, however, arrived as silent as thistledown on the wind. They, too, fed on the abundant supply of nectar, as they arrived to meet and mate.  Then the females headed off to lay their eggs, thus leaving us their gift of beauty and wonder in the year yet to come.

In the meadow the pink of the Campion, which has been flowering continually since the spring, has been joined by  the pink of the Corm Cockles, which have taken over from the pinks and purples of the Aqualiegia.  The blue of the Corn Flowers and the Nigella (also given the title of Love In The Mist, – which I think is almost as beautiful as the flower itself), now mixing with the pinks, the whites and the stripes of the Cosmos.

My Chrysanthemums – Polar Star – . their tiny, pale white, petals surrounding their black centers, ringed with yellow,  shine like eyes watching the world from the country cottage border. In the company of the osteospermum – Serenity – with its’  luminous yellow petals around a white ringed, black center, appear to glow in the half light of dusk and in the pale light of the moon.  As do the white Allysum which line the sides of the paving slabs,  and thus illuminate the edges of the path in the darkness.

The Foxgloves and Lupins are going over now. Their petals. on their tall spires, are giving way to the little pods which hold their seeds, and the hope for next years colours, safely sealed inside.

As I had stood, in the early morning, dousing the borders with water from the hose, the scent of lavender had risen up to greet my senses. Now, in the evening,  as the light is fading and the sun sinks below the horizon,  I am standing by the back door surrounded by the fragrance of the Honeysuckle. It envelopes me like a blanket, airy and comforting. Soothing my senses and smothering the worries of the day,  as if to clear them from my mind.

… it really was a most beautiful day.

The Spiders Web

20 Saturday Jun 2015

Posted by in 30DaysWild, nature, poetry

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First a silken thread is spun, onto a branch place this primary one.

Drop into a chasm of empty space

’till at the next branch, the second to place.

Back to the first and repeat again

so like the spokes on a wheel the shape is retained.

Thus the spider spins, more and more

 checking each is well secure

Then switch direction, to go round the outside

when this is complete – retire and hide

Out of site, the trap is set

to catch her dinner in her silken net.

…

My 30DaysWild Challenge.

09 Tuesday Jun 2015

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30DaysWild- signing a pledge to have an interaction of some kind with nature everyday for 30 days.

Seemed like my kinda thing when I signed up – and I think I have managed to stay at least within the spirit of the idea.

However, if I am honest I did expect more from myself! I was expecting it to propel me out of the door,  to walk the dog every day and come back with photos and inspiration for writing about all the things I’d  encountered and experienced.

But then again, that was kinda what this blog was supposed to do. But sometimes, alot of the time lately, depression seems to be getting in the way!

So, I thought I would summarise what I have managed to accomplish in this first week:

Monday 1st June – Today I went out and strolled around the garden. Sat a while and listened to the bees huming and watched as they visited the flowers. Later, from indoors, I watched the birds through the window. Binoculars at hand to get a closer look if needs be, I watched the finches at the feeders, and the sparrows and blackbirds foraging in the flower borders. I watched the blue tits, the great tits and the coal tits all coming in to feed on the fat cakes and the wood pigeons strutting about the lawn, hoovering up anything edible they can find.

Tuesday 2nd June – Unable to sleep, by 3am  I was stood outside the back door waiting  to hear the dawn chorus. A real 30DaysWild moment, and yet it is something I do often when I have trouble sleeping. Allowing myself to get totally emmersed, loosing myself in the vast expanse of sky.  The stars on the canvas of black and smothering blue can leave you dizzy if you stare at them for too long.Watching as the light slowly starts to lighten the sky. Bringing my gaze down I take in the silhouette of the trees, standing out even blacker than the sky. But the dawn brings a different kind of light. At first just lighter shades of dark, but then colours can be defined. First just the browns of trees and fences, then the greens of leaves and grass, the reds and greys of bricks and rocks.  Being aware of the air as it stirs through the branches. Joined by the birds, quietly at first but getting louder,  as the sun illuminates the sky with pink and gold, and more and more voices join the celebration of the arrival of a new day.

Wednesday 3rd June – Today I had a 4 mile run through our local Country Park. It had been booked some time ago (part of a series of runs I have signed up to do). But this one was close to home – this was my local park, where the dog and I walk. This one was special! I felt comfortable and at home running here, the familiarity of the surroundings helping me to shut everything else out. Just me, and the challenge to keep running – the trees, the birdsong and the familiar tracks seemed to be urging me on.

Thursday 4th June – With my anxiety rising, for no real reason that I could descern, a noisy visit  from the magpies and crows to the garden caught my attention today. Like someone plucking on a guitar string, my nerves vibrated and jangled. But this was no resonant tune, this was a harsh clamour and shriek of discord. At first I could not quite discern who was chasing whom, both having nests high up in the leylandii at the bottom of my neighbours garden. The appearance of a young magpie revealed the explanation for  the ruckus. Later in the day I went for a run which took me down tree lined lanes, passed fields of tall grass and wild flowers. Through muddy puddles and clouds of midges and gnats, but all in the soft evening light of the setting sun.

Friday 5th June – Today was a difficult day. Motivation was low and I struggled to do very much at all. I went briefly into the garden, up to the top where I am trying to grow country cottage borders of wild flowers. The hawthorn is in flower, tinged pink, but the lilac flowers are finished for this year. The ground elder is rampant, and the speedwell seems to be trumping the forget-me-nots. The teasel have shot up, but it is too early for flowers on those yet. It is the ox-eye daisies, the aqualiegia and the campion which are bringing in the bees at the moment. I wait with baited breath for the pink of the corm cockles and the cosmos, the blue of the corn flowers and the campanula and the gold of the corn marigolds and the rudbeckia. And, of course, the purple of the budleighia.

Saturday 6th June – Headed off to Cannock Chase this morning, to cheer on the runners in the Chase Challenge. Whilst waiting to cheer them past the finish line I took a short walk, taking the time to watch the chaffinches and the pied wagtails along the edge of the path, and the swallows as they skimmed over the fields.

Sunday 7th June – Did some planting in the front garden and later the dog and I took a brisk walk to Granville. The sun was shining and we retraced the route I had run earlier in the week, hoping to rekindle some of the energy and peace I encountered whilst running. I found a beautiful sculpture by one of the entrances, I haven’t ever noticed it there before, but had not taken my camera so was unable to get a picture at the time.

Monday 8th June – Really struggled to get anything done today, best I could manage was to get a shower. I desperately wanted to walk the dog – but it simply didn’t happen. I had also wanted to go into town to pick up more bird seed, but that didn’t happen either! Despite the beautiful sunshine I just didn’t seem able to get myself out through the front door. I did manage to watch the birds in the garden, through the window. The Goldfinches have fledged, the juveniles were down feeding with the adults. Despite the beautiful sunshine streaming through my window, and the perfect reason to get outside, I can feel the weight of the depression crushing all the joy out of everything at the moment.

Tuesday 9th June- today I wrote this blog!

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.

The Changing Facets of Wind

19 Thursday Mar 2015

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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

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.