Yesterday

Notes written for a couple of local publications, yesterday . . .

Fairly early on a sharp and frosty Sunday morning not far into November, I was out walking along the lines near Leighton. The sheep stood solemnly watching me from a small field at the village edge, part-shrouded in mist. The field oaks and the hedgerow hawthorn were still well clothed with leaves, the lower leaves of the hawthorn yellowing, as pigments already in the leaf showed through to replace the green of chlorophyll. All along the tops of the hedges, spiders’ webs glistened with dew.

I had parked by the church, where redwings, winter thrushes from the Arctic, were attacking the berries. Rabbits ran out out from a hedge ahead of me, to pause and watch me unafraid from the stations they took up within the field. A proud cock pheasant and several brown females were prospecting the ground under a spreading oak, while a mixed party of small birds, mostly great and blue tits, moved busily through the branches above.

From the fields above me I could hear the distant shouts of workers moving and feeding the sheep. Then, as the farm truck made its way down to a gate further along the lane, I spotted a brown hare making a splendid dash across one of the upper fields, to disappear along the edge of the wood. Behind me there came the sound of jackdaws: three birds flew across the lane in front of me, while the rest of the flock continued to fuss and quarrel somewhere out of sight. Further away was the cough of a raven.

The church bells began to ring, clear as crystal on the still air, with an echo that almost fooled me into thinking there was a second tower ringing a distance away. Mixing with the echo was the distant cawing of rooks.

Turning to walk back towards the bells, I was able to catch the distinctive undulating flight of a great spotted woodpecker. I imagine it had been working its way up a substantial dead tree that stood in one of the fields; I watched it fly into a small stand of trees not far away, but could not see where it had landed without my field glasses.

Arriving back at the church, I noticed the redwings had moved on, perhaps disturbed by the cars arriving for morning worship. A movement at the edge of the car park attracted my eye: a wren, busily searching through leaf litter. Highland cattle stood solidly in the adjacent field, steam rising from their nostrils. The bright sun was turning the wooded hillside opposite into gold. What a wonderful place this is, how rich our valleys and hills!

(The picture of a rook was taken last week in Krakow - they seem really tame there!)