Souter, maker of shoes, how long ago?
Did he sit in woods like these and see what we see today? An amphitheatre, an oasis, surrounds the cottage. Tall Pines and vibrant Sycamore form a protecting wall against the weather. In the clearing life flourishes. Listen, there is the Thrush and Robin, familiar garden friends. There on the Elder sits another speckled visitor, the Flycatcher, darting out and back with a beak brimming with flying insects. A rustling in the eaves alerts us to a nest. The noisy chicks so insistent, the parents so diligent. It’s a great tit’s nest. Look carefully, is it a young birds head looking out into a new world? Without a moments hesitation it leaves the nest, pushing off into the unknown, leaving the less ambitious siblings behind. One by one over the next few hours they all emerge to their new life. The last and somewhat reluctant chick, flutters uncertainly and collides with a the freshly trimmed hawthorn hedge. It drops the the ground, shakes its head and undaunted launches into the air with the optimistic determination of youth to join its companions.
What is that commotion? A Jay has entered the arena. A predator, a danger. The alert sounds. Blue titis and their allies mass to attack and harass the gaudily dressed intruder. It tries to evade the belligerent and incensed parents but they are insistent and will not be denied. The Jay retreats for the time being but he will be back. The cuckoo mocks his retreat in a strident call, the harbinger of Summer.
A rustle, a glimpse of a tan fur, a shy deer melts into the undergrowth. Night begins to fall and with it the birds join in a joyful chorus, led by the thrush and crowned by the prima donna, the Nightingale, notes tumbling on top of each other, rising and falling in a mellifluous melody.
As darkness deepens Brock appears, shuffling and huffing on his nightly perambulation. He stops, sniffs, a tempting scent. He samples the gift, peanuts. Little does he realise his image has been captured by an infrared camera and will live on in the watcher’s memory.
Maybe the Souter would have seen more but for us its was more than enough. A magical week, a real tonic, many thanks to you Nick and Cath.
Chris and Sandra Robinson