The fish are safe somewhere else, but it’s sad to see a pond free of fins and friendly open mouths to feed. But a pond is never empty. Frogs, toads, newts and the inevitable pair of amorous ducks are just the start.
It’s not easy trying to catch some rather large (very uncooperative) fish, so as to move them to a temporary home. Luckily the robin flew to a tree by the edge of the pond and serenaded us all sweetly and robustly. Or maybe he was bidding his fish goodbye.
You can inwardly grumble some days that it’s raining, but at least it’s not cold, or it’s sunny but the wind is numbing half your face. Then you look down at a distant field and see a highland calf (undaunted by mere weather)dashing daringly away from his majestic mother, only to rush back to her safe bulk and comforting milk.
Everyone looked up to watch the chinook helicopter as it roared passed. That is, the dog, the yellowhammer and the flock of sheep who suddenly stood stock still on the curve of the hill. Once it had gone, it was soon forgotten and they resumed their sniffing, chirping, their leaping and gambolling respectively.
When you’re walking dejectedly through yet more grey rain, the chipper pied wagtail, with his undulating flight and rallying chirp, will gladden you. He’ll appear all bright and bobbing-tailed under the bird table, or gather at sunset with all his fellows under the railway lines at the end of the pier.
At last a lull between storms, in fact hardly even a breath of breeze. The birds are noisily going about their business, while a cockerel from the small holding and a woodland thrush have started an impromptu and unlikely duet that doesn’t altogether work. Even a darkly red coated squirrel scurries through the uppermost branches of the old sweet chestnut tree.