It’s so incredibly hot, even (unusually) right through to the evening and night. The swallows, swifts and aquatic creatures of every type and species are happy, but the jackdaws sit on roof tops panting like little black dogs.
A dozen white egrets fly in their floaty delicate way over my head, heading for the sunset and the Duver. The tide turned an hour ago and they’ll be getting ready to wade their yellow feet through the rock pools that gradually reveal themselves.
Ice-white forks of lightening illuminated the half-stranded boats in the harbour and St Helens (on the opposite side) seemed to be enduring the Blitz. The soundtrack to all this drama was the loudest thunder I’ve ever heard.
Does feeling star struck normally mean buying lots of extra budget cake and waiting eagerly for every high tide? It is when a family of swans has your deck on its list of places to eat.
Four slow worms, medium, large and small, three large frogs and one tiny one; endless ants, snails and slugs, all discovered living around an old compost heap. I sincerely hope they haven’t minded being relocated a few yards away.
It was such a distressed call, and my heart sank as I thought the cat had caught something. Luckily, the ‘victim’ was a baby black headed gull in the difficult transitional phase when he has to start fending for himself.
First light brings the loud and enthusiastic song of the wren performed at breakneck speed. In the background is the cooing of a pigeon interspersed with the sharper quacks of a duck and squawks of a gull; a contemporary jazz of a dawn chorus.
I caught sight of him briefly in the corner of my eye and thought he was a swallow landing on the ferry. Then he hopped down on the car deck and I saw immediately he was a clever, opportunistic little wagtail.
Heavy rain fell on dry ground and parched leaves, and suddenly almost forgotten snails appeared, then a freckled thrush. Then the raindrops reactivated the sweet, sweet scent of wild honeysuckle and white philadelphus flowers.
There’s few things better than walking down to a quiet beach on one of those sultry June evenings, then swimming in the sea as the hot sun goes down, with fish breaking the surface just yards away.