That oh so clever ivy is in flower again. A definite case of managing to keep your head while all around are losing theirs.
Dozens of starlings lined along the apex of an adjacent roof make for an interesting variation on a Victorian ridge tile theme.
Little flocks of fidgety pied wagtails have arrived at the fairway. Fortunately, their smart monochrome plumage falls within the golf course dress code.
Ruby rose hips wearing dew encrusted spider webs decorate the hedgerow and whisper their promises of flowers in June.
Starlings quarrelling about their position on the tv aerial, and jackdaws pottering on chimneys replace sandpipers and ducks sifting through the mud at low tide.
On the smooth grass opposite the Specialist Flying School, the crow family strut around looking for morsels. And the swallows speed down the green runway, skimming the ground by mere inches.
September 10th was a special day. After what seemed an age (but was probably only a few months) the skulking cetti’s warbler found his voice again. I missed him and his monotonous song.
The tide is on the turn and already the keenest of the fishing fraternity is poised. They wait patiently, the weathered man with his green waders and rod; the elegant little egret and the stealthy heron with their crest feathers and assassin beaks.
A misty but hot September day; the beaches and parks have emptied out their children and holiday makers. And behind me somewhere in the hedge I hear the robin’s tinkling little song.
Birds do it; bees do it, as do cows, foxes, and dogs. Families laden with bags ready to be filled have an unfair advantage in the competitive sport of blackberry picking.