Lightening like gigantic fireworks, and thunder more atomic than meteorological; unruly gusts of wind racing down unblocked chimneys. Autumn’s most definitely here.
Wrong again. It was a cold but beautiful morning and who should race past but a couple of swallows. It’s Bonfire Night, so definitely time to cross the Channel. Please.
Every time I’ve conclusively decided they must have gone, I see small groups of house martins swooping in the thermals above the tree line. Now there are quarrelling, resplendent jays busy gathering acorns and the swallows and house martins have finally flown south.
Three swans fly slowly, magnificently and unexpectedly into view. They circle the pond, are they going to colonize it for the winter? Alas no, and off they fly, necks outstretched, like outsized flying ducks on a living room wall.
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.