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3rd July 2010
A few birds,
some calves and the summer solstice |
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SPRING, and a young crow's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of
love ... but in no time at all it's nothing but nag, nag, nag...
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Your eyes are the eyes of a jackdaw in love,
And may they gaze evermore into mine... |
If you're not back from the pub before I put the kids to bed -
your supper will be in Colin Crow next door |
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Tweet of the Day |
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Time
for an update on the songbirds I've been befriending down in the
valley. Just as with the crows, above, once the birds' fancy
lightly turned to thoughts of love, it was chat-up and seduction
right, left and centre. Food became an annoying distraction.
Then,
once the chicks began to hatch I saw less and less of the lads
- after all they were now fully occupied hunting all day long to
help the missus
feed the kids. |
A male chaffinch or two did keep me company, but once all the various birds
began to
fledge, more and more of the parent birds began to reappear, accompanied
by the chattering of the young, hiding among the leaves, begging their
parents for food, even though they were already starting to hunt and feed
for themselves.
One of the returning birds was a great tit - but there
was something rather odd... |
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Initially distracted by the neat blend of the yellow feathers
and the carpet of buttercups and cowslips, I then noticed the
lack of feathers around the head area ... captured more clearly
the next day - see next door... |
I have no idea what this is a sign of, unless of course it's some
sort of stress-triggered alopecia following a close call with the local Jack the
Ripper, a sparrow hawk, causing the poor bird to lose its body feathers
following a dreadful fright. |
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Pssst! |
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You know how I
love my diptych - a pair of photographs that sit comfortably alongside
each other - then add the "Pssst!" factor... |
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A couple of
White Park calves - one a mongrel, or more correctly, a genetic
throwback - captured in front of Newton House at Dinefwr Park,
Llandeilo...
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Summer solstice |
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Given
all the agreeably dry weather this year thus far - don't mention
the pending water shortage should this weather continue - with
plenty of sunshiny days leading up to June 21, the 'longest' day
of the year, I thought I'd try and capture both sunrise and
sunset ... from the same spot, atop Dinefwr Castle. |
It's one of
the highest points within the Towy Valley itself, with wonderfully
panoramic views. It's only the once over the past 10 years or so that I've managed to capture both ends of
the day; even if it's not raining on the day,
cloud cover regularly obliterates either the sun coming up or going
down. So it was fingers crossed... |
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A beautiful dawn, some typically high, wispy summer clouds -
the above was captured at 05.05. Despite the perfect forecast,
the sunrise over the Cambrian Mountain range (running up through
mid Wales) was nearly 'lost' due to that really dark
band of cloud, just above the horizon; and believe it or not I
could see rain falling from those distant clouds - more about
that, directly below. That evening, I returned to capture
sunset from the same spot, knowing that there wasn't much to see
looking west, compared to |
the glorious views looking east,
that is. I forgot about the castle
itself – the above reminds me of the Sphinx – and of course the
birds handily wandering into view, stage left. The above was taken at
20.20, shortly before the sun actually set.
What is particularly
interesting from the top of the castle is that the sunrise and sunset
points at this time of year appear like ten-past-ten on a clock - the
image so beloved of marketing folk - which reflects the
daylight/darkness hours perfectly. |
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Above, a close-up of those dark clouds - captured some 15
minutes before actual sunrise - and the sheets of falling rain
are clearly visible, which rather took me by surprise given the
forecast was for a dry day. When I got home I checked out the
Met Office rainfall radar for the British Isles, which shows
rainfall images at half-hourly intervals, for the previous six
hours - and there it was, a telltale line of narrow showers,
over the valleys of east Wales, to the north of Cardiff. |
I was truly
surprised at the distance between me and those showers - some 50 miles
according to the radar images. Strangely enough the other picture,
above, was something that caught my eye in the sky, quite near - taken
just before the sun appeared. It's those small dark clouds, in
particular the jellyfish-style tails. Thinking about it after, I presume
those are 'tails' of rain, but quickly evaporating in the dry morning
air. Whatever, I though it a rather eye-catching image. |
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31st May 2010
The tale of the
upside-down sheep - but first, an update of life on the
wild side |
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"Relatives are the worst friends," said the fox,
as the dogs took after him.
Danish proverb |
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I KICK OFF this bulletin with a repeat of the proverb I used to round
off the last bulletin. There is, of course, a reason. After putting
the previous bulletin to bed, and as is my wont, I went walkies
along the world wide web ... lo and behold, I stumble upon the
smiliest of images – and so very apt, given the above quote.
Here it is, alongside...
In a perfect world I’d acknowledge whose effort this
little masterpiece is - confirmation of 'believe nothing you hear, just half what
you see'! - but sadly, I have no idea where it comes from. It's a
fact of internet life that on the wild side of the web, once anything goes
online there’s no knowing where it all ends up, and that’s
something you just have to accept. It’s all part of the game.
Anyway, back to my last bulletin: I featured the
photograph of two crows observed stalking a sheep and her lamb,
and I mentioned that “crows will attack sheep that have become
trapped, or more often, sheep that roll onto their backs and are
unable to right themselves without human help. The crows will
first take out the sheep's eyes, and then set about attacking
other vulnerable parts of the body. It really is distressing
coming across a live sheep 'attacked' in this way”. |
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Well blow me, not long after posting that previous bulletin,
I’d set out of the cottage on my usual morning walk and was
crossing one of the fields when, suddenly, my heart sank.
I could see an upside-down sheep - there on its back, legs in the air, and
what was clearly its own lamb looking on in a bemused fashion -
the depressing incident captured in the image alongside.
I hurried towards it, dreading what I would find,
namely a sheep that was no more, a sheep that had kicked the
bucket, shuffled off its mortal coil, run down the curtain and
joined the bleedin' choir invisible - an ex-sheep... (with
apologies to the Python's dead parrot sketch).
Now I'm aware that the farmer whose land I was crossing
faithfully checks out his flock even more regularly than the local
vicar checks out his, the trouble being though that a sheep can roll onto its back
the moment the farmer exits the field, and then it quickly succumbs
to the unforgiving tactics of the many predators out there.
Birds appear at the head of the queue, and as I mention
above, it’s the
eyes they go for first – I’m never sure whether this is because
the eyes are a delicacy, or that it’s a strategic advantage to
render your target blind. In truth it’s probably a bit of both. |
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I have some photographs of sheep attacked in this way, and truth
to tell they are most harrowing, certainly it would serve no
purpose to parade them here.
Anyway, as I got nearer the sheep it began to struggle
wildly – but no way could it right itself. I arrive with the
sheep – its lamb having scampered away as I approached – but
thankfully everything was okay. It had probably not long
rolled onto its back.
What happens, as far as I am able to surmise, is that
sheep are now specifically bread for meat purposes i.e.
perfect conformation, meaning low-slung with 'deep' bodies, a low centre of gravity, and
shortish legs – just like the whiteface featured here (I call it
a white-face as I'm unsure what specific breed it is). So when
they kick their legs out to generate momentum to lift themselves
back onto their feet - especially so if they happen to be lying
on a bit of a gradient - they are not particularly agile so they somehow roll onto their backs, and
there they stay, grounded in an upside down state.
Curiously, not long ago I witnessed what I call a
speckle-faced sheep roll onto its back. You lucky cow, I
remember thinking, I’m on the spot to rescue you. But
surprisingly the sheep kicked its legs out rather vigorously and
righted itself without too much trouble, much as a horse does
after it rolls onto its back to treat itself to a good old
scratch and rub. So the speckled sheep is a
more traditional breed, not having such
a low-slung body, but crucially blessed with much longer legs,
and all-in-all much more supple. |
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Anyway, I duly set about rescuing old white-face, which took
quite an effort. Lifting it back onto its feet was no
problem, but as soon as I released my grip, it immediately
collapsed in a heap, and as it struggled to get up, rolled onto its back
yet again.
The poor creature had completely lost its sense of
balance, its equilibrium. So I tried again – but this time, as
soon as I righted the old girl I gripped her firmly allowing her to
regain her equilibrium ... I hoped no one was watching! ... yes,
she struggled to free herself, but after
a while I let go and off she shot, a bit unsteady on her
pins as she rushed towards her lamb and
the rest of the flock. My good deed for the day done and dusted.
As a matter of interest, in the photograph alongside,
as she rushes to rejoin the flock, you can see from the other
sheep the body shape and how impossible it
must be for the unfortunate things once they find themselves on their backs.
By a further coincidence, about a week later, on a
neighbouring farmer's land, I came upon another sheep, this time
already dead and decorated in the tell-tale red patches as the
scavengers took their fill - but from the position of the body
that unfortunate sheep must have died from some natural
cause, as if it had simply lay down - and just died. |
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The dark side of the moon lights up |
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LAST year I followed the breeding adventures of two pairs of swans: one
couple I labelled
the alpha pair as they occupy the main lake, what is the prime breeding
spot, at least within my square mile; the other two I
presumed to be a novice pair attempting to make a go of it on very much
a second-tier backwater.
The
alpha pair bred six cygnets, and their life and times I followed all the
way up to the stage just
before they abandoned their
'ugly duckling' persona, and were then duly sent packing by mum and dad
as they prepared the ground work for the coming season's new arrivals.
But the second pair's attempt at raising a family was a
disaster, in as much that the eggs never hatched. There was a
particularly heart-rending moment I witnessed as the |
mother stood over the failed eggs
calling out and 'slapping' them with her feet. I concluded that the nest
had been built much too shallow and as a consequence the body heat of the
pen was negated by the cold rising from the backwater beneath.
This year they were back - at least I guessed that they were the
same pair - because this time what was noticeable was how much higher
above the water level the pair
had built the nest. Every day a day at school, you see, and that of
course includes all of
God's creatures.
If you
didn't follow the tale of the two families last year, especially the
novice pair,
here's a link that will paint a brief picture of what
transpired, which will then make this season's pictures coming up that much
more relevant. Click swans...
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This year the nest is built much higher above the water level... |
... and the cob patrols the nest rather aggressively |
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Last year's disappointment turns to success
- captured shortly after the cygnets hatched... |
...six in all, but curiously they immediately abandon that
backwater for a much smaller and more vulnerable location |
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Meanwhile, the pen of the alpha pair has also delivered - one
more than last year - but I catch her somewhat by surprise... |
...moving from the larger oxbow lake to the smaller one - but
once
in the water the cygnets immediately pile aboard mum for safety |
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However, the very first newborn of the season seen strutting their stuff on
the lake were geese... |
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...a pair of Greylags show off an impressive 16-strong brood |
A month later, with the cygnets also now in residence, the cob gets
bolshie |
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Also, a pair of Canada geese fancy each other like mad:
"So what's a bad girl like you doing in a nice place like this?" |
A few weeks later, the stork delivers the goslings as promised!
In attendance what must be either a sister, aunt, grandma...
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'Old it, flash,
bang, wallop, what a picture, what a photograph
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I LAUNCHED this bulletin with a photograph that wasn't mine - so I might
as well round it off with a guest picture too.
A picture which, unsurprisingly, has been all over the newspapers this
spring bank holiday weekend...
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Fast food queue:
"Okay kids, whose hungry?"
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Now isn't this quite the most delightful photograph you've seen
in a while? A long-tailed tit has her work cut out with a brood
of 11 chicks to feed.
Do you know, I've often wondered about those
unfortunate little
birds which end up with a cuckoo in the nest: how on earth do
they cope with feeding the cuckoo as it grows to such an
enormous size? Well, the long-tailed tit here provides the answer.
Imagine just how hectic life must be for the parent birds as
they feed this little lot.
The photograph was taken by Gary Shilton, a volunteer
at the RSPB's Fairburn Ings nature reserve in West Yorkshire.
A truly magical picture, Gary. |
I've never seen a long-tailed tit among the bevy of tits that I've
befriended over the past year or so. The long-tailed tit, like all the
other little birds that struggled with the cold winter, had to eat
almost continuously to survive - which is why losses were so high.
Given the evidence of my own eyes, what with the increased
numbers of cygnets and goslings on show as featured in this
bulletin, do you suppose that all birds are automatically programmed to
increase their breeding programme following a hard winter? It's an
intriguing thought. Incidentally, I'll be very surprised if this little
long-tailed tit doesn't feature on tonight's first Springwatch 2010. |
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18th April 2010
A
21st Century Fox Production |
When the fox
cannot reach the grapes, he says they are not ripe
A fable attributed to Aesop |
ON A RECENT edition of a BBC Welsh language radio programme
about nature called Galwad Cynnar – Early Morning Call -
a
listener rang the show to tell the tale of watching a fox wander
about and inspect at close quarters a flock of ewes and lambs as
they relaxed on a field – but astonishingly not a single sheep
moved, let alone become agitated or alarmed, as the fox wandered
amongst them. Had others noticed such curious behaviour,
especially as the fox is presumed to be a lamb’s number one
public enemy?
The perfect juxtaposition image alongside was captured
a good few moons back in the display window of Fountain Fine Art
at Llandeilo.
Anyway, the general consensus from the studio experts
was that this sort of behaviour has been observed before,
especially by farmers themselves, where sheep surprisingly take
not too much notice of foxes wandering past.
As someone who wanders the Towy Valley around sunrise
pretty much every morning, I've also spotted this particular
behaviour a few times; indeed on one occasion I managed to
capture some photographs of the incident.
Normally, as soon as a fox notices or senses me, it
scarpers; it will then casually stop to stand and stare and
measure the real threat - before usually shooting off again.
However, this particular morning the fox noticed my
presence, stopped ... stared ... and then continued along its
unhurried inspection of the goods on view. |
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As mentioned in previous dispatches, for ease of use, handling
and carrying, I use but a small-ish camera - something between a
pocket-size compact and a proper SLR; it does what I want, but
it struggles if conditions are not ideal, or if I have to use
maximum zoom, as I have with these photographs - which explains
why the fox doesn't appear to be particularly fussed with my
presence standing at the other end of the field. |
As it wandered through the flock it occasionally stopped to inspect the
grapes on the vine - a neat stand-off between fox and sheep captured above
- and below, no real confrontations, but both sheep and
lambs keep eyes very much on the ball.
The two pictures below are not good quality - the fox
was moving away - but they capture rather perfectly the cat-and-mouse
game between hunter and hunted. |
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The above incident reminds me of a letter I had published in the
Western Mail back in 2005. It was in response to a farmer who’d
written in and claimed hardly any lambing losses in a lifetime
of farming…
"SIR - DO YOU suppose the correspondent who claims to have lost just
two lambs in more than 40 years of sheep farming fell asleep
whilst counting? Even the better farmers admit that sheep and
lambs are not the best of survivalists. They demand much TLC
along their walk through time.
Losses escalate during the lambing season: stillborn,
weakness in one or more of a multiple birth, sudden limb
disorders leaving lambs as easy targets for predators...
Farmers are in general agreement that foxes mostly
hoover up the dead and dying, but acknowledge the existence of
killer foxes; unlike killer dogs though, which can be
identified, isolated and shot, a great number of foxes need to
be taken out in the hope that the killer is one of them..."
(Pictured alongside, a fox I crept up on -
while hiding behind a
hedge - which I'd noticed was busily chomping away on something.
Often just the 'click' of the camera will alert wildlife,
but I was far enough away. So I pointed again - and went
"Pssst!". Click! And off it shot like the
proverbial dose of salts. Anyway, to continue the letter...) |
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"It brings to mind a local rustic tale from way back
before lambing sheds, where the farmer concerned, dead many moons now,
always boasted loss-free lambing.
This puzzled neighbours and local farmers, especially
given he was not flamboyantly boastful, indeed a well respected
chapel man, trusted in the community. The truth duly emerged.
Prior to high-profile mechanisation,
farmers often employed many servants, dependant upon the size of
the farm, obviously. Said farmer ran a sizable unit, so when his
workers returned from the fields and reported losses, the old boy
would do his nut and give everyone lots of hassle for the rest
of the day.
The men quickly learnt to simply chuck any dead lamb
into the woods and say nowt. Human nature being what it is, they
shared their secrets with fellow farming mates, who told their
own bosses, who duly gossiped in the community, especially so
down the pub.
All this resulted in a delightful win-win situation: foxes
having their grub delivered on a plate; farm workers left in
peace to get on with things; boss man contented with his lot;
oh, and the parish in on the joke without ever once letting
foxy-woxy out of the bag.
Life is so simple when lived properly." |
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The fox never
found a better messenger than himself
Irish proverb |
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HERE'S another off-beat encounter with Mr Fox. Walking along a
local country lane I could hear a quite dreadful racket the
other side of a tall hedge. I recognised the sound of magpies
doing their nuts, or whatever it is they do when they’re
squabbling amongst themselves - or indeed warning other magpies
of a sparrow hawk in the vicinity. |
So I came upon a gate leading into a field of recently sowed and newly
established maize. What I saw made me freeze – well, except for quietly
sliding the camera off my shoulder, taking the lens cap off, switching
on and hurriedly pointing and zooming before focussing... |
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A young fox was wandering casually through the maize rows,
sniffing here and there – but being vigorously and loudly
harassed by one of the magpies. |
It became particularly agitated and aggressive towards the fox, indeed
it would move dangerously close to the fox. |
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The fox took little notice of the bird, except to occasionally
lunge at it. The magpie would execute a rapid takeoff – but
quickly return to the task at hand. Also, the
second bird would sometimes join in the rowdy attacks. So what on earth was
going on? |
I concluded that they must have had a nest or chicks somewhere close by,
and were simply protecting their young, desperate to get rid of the fox.
Suddenly, the fox spotted me - and off it shot at a rate of knots. The
birds relaxed ... and peace returned. |
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BUT ENOUGH of the fox. Perhaps a lamb’s greatest enemy,
especially when it is at its most vulnerable, could very
well be the crow. Crows will attack sheep that have become trapped,
or more often, sheep that roll onto their backs and are unable
to right themselves without human help. The crows will first
take out the sheep's eyes, and then set about attacking other
vulnerable parts of the body. It really is distressing coming
across a live sheep 'attacked' in this way.
Anyway, some weeks back I noticed a couple of
crows stalk a sheep and its lamb. The farmer involved lambs at home, but
when the lambs are a day or so old, and presuming they are fit
and healthy, he brings them to this rented field. So there was
no after-birth for the crows to clear up; the lamb looked
perfectly healthy, if a little hunched from the cold, frosty
weather ... but had the crows sensed that everything wasn’t quite
as it seemed? They really do look ready to pounce, but I watched
them for a while without anything untoward happening. But they
continued to stalk the lamb and its mother.
Finally, and returning to foxy-woxy, here are three
pictures I've captured: the first from Fountain Fine Art's window;
the second taken when I crept up on an unsuspecting young fox
hunting voles or some such thing; and the third, one taken at too great a distance
for sharpness - but
when I looked at the image, something caught my eye ... see if
you spot it ... I've blown it up, so ignore the lack of
definition. |
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Yes, it's those extraordinary markings on its face - the white
'blobs'. I've never noticed anything like that before.
Anyway, I shall round off this 21st Century Fox Production with another
wonderful foxy quote...
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"Relatives
are the worst friends," said the fox, as the dogs took after him.
Danish proverb |
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25th March 2010
Sing something simple
A DIPTYCH
that hopefully justifies the name of this web site, not to mention the
pleasure that goes into keeping it current ... so say hello to a couple of my
singy-songy feathered friends...
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"Is it me
- or can you hear that strange background music?" |
"Now
you mention it, yes I can - don't like the song much though." |
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These little birds
provide me with endless amusement and satisfaction - they also keep my
imagination on its tipy-toes - hope you share my enjoyment and smiles. Be
sure to check out the updated Postcard Corner over on
Look
You...
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12th March 2010
Kiss a snowdrop - tongues allowed
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I
rounded off my previous bulletin with Iris Murdoch's delightful
quote: "People from a planet
without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to
have such things about us." And I endorsed it with a picture
of a cluster of snowdrops, along with
a few words to greet their late arrival following
the coldest winter for 31 years.
Although it is often thought of as a British native
wild flower, or to have been brought to the British isles by the
Romans, it was probably introduced around the early Sixteenth
century. |
Quite how the "experts" know all this
I'm not too sure - after all, we're currently witnessing a high-profile
enquiry into exactly what happened over the past ten years to bring
about the war in Iraq, yet all I can hear is: "Liar, liar, pants on
fire!"
Anyway, snowdrops are the perfect antidote to the
greyness of winter - or should that be the "whiteness of winter"
this
time around? Whatever, I thought the
flower deserved a more appreciative slot, so here are some shots
captured over the past week or so, all bar one pretty much outside my back door. |
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A hot air balloon rises above a drift of snowdrops |
A worm's-eye view of this magical little flower |
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Down and out on a misty dawn following a cold, frosty night... |
...but with the sun on their backs it's heads up, shoulders back |
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mentioned in my last bulletin, these delicate flowers survive in
winter because their leaves have specially hardened leaf tips
for breaking through frozen ground - known as 'snow piercers' or
'snow breakers'. |
The leaves also contain an
antifreeze: when sub-zero temperatures strike, the water in the plant's
cells doesn't crystallise and rupture the cells - as spectacularly
demonstrated in the pair of pictures below. |
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At nine in the morning, after an exceptionally frosty night... |
...and at three in the afternoon, despite a cutting
northerly |
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Recent years have seen an unusual rise in the number of bees
out and about in the cold winter months, and scientists are now
beginning to find out why. While most bees are hibernating, some
honey bees raise an
extra generation of workers to take advantage |
of our winter-flowering plants, although the bee shown here has been programmed to start earlier
in the year by our recent mild winters and early
springs. Probably.
So, in celebration, just a taste of The Snowdrop, by Mary Webb... |
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In the pale sunshine,
with frail wings unfurled,
Comes to the bending snowdrop the first bee.
She gives her winter honey prudently;
And faint with travel in a bitter world,
The bee makes music, tentative and low,
And spring awakes and laughs across the snow. |
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But what are those curious 'blobs' on both its hind legs? |
Seen here in close up ... some sort of infection? |
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No,
certainly not an infection - but I had to look it up to find the
answer...
Workers and queens have two pollen baskets, one each on the
outside surface of both hind legs.
The pollen basket is easy to spot: when empty it's a
large, flat and shiny area with spiky hairs around the edge, but
when it's full it contains pollen which is mostly yellow, orange
or red.
The honey bee moistens the forelegs with a protruding
tongue and brushes the
pollen
that has collected on head, body and forward appendages to the
hind legs. |
First, the pollen is transferred to the pollen comb on the hind
legs and then combed, pressed, compacted, and transferred to the outside
surface of the tibia of the hind legs – as perfectly highlighted above.
Bee researchers have observed
that individual honey bees are variously efficient in packing pollen
into the pollen basket - just like human workers, in fact. It can take an
individual worker bee anything from three to eighteen minutes to
complete a pollen load and return to the hive. |
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Incidentally, yesterday,
after an exceptionally frosty and cold start, the day opened up
beautifully, so in the afternoon I decided to visit the family farm to
the north of Llandeilo to check on the avenue of trees I planted a few
years back.
I then took the opportunity to visit the banks of the
little river that runs through the farm, just to see if the snowdrops I
remember from my youth were still there ... indeed they were ... the
result can be seen alongside. I'd forgotten just how relaxing a stroll
along the banks of the Afon Dulais could be.
An addendum to this late spring: with daffodils still
struggling to burst into life, and the lush green carpet of foliage that
precedes the bluebell just making an appearance - a month later than
usual - this very morning I noticed, in a sheltered and secluded
south-facing spot along the banks of the River Towy, some primroses, in
all their glory. Delightful.
Smile of the
snowdrop day
Did You Know?
If you kiss a snowdrop and slide the tip of your tongue inside the
flower - after it has been
open for a while - you can taste the sweet nectar inside. |
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28th February 2010
When the snow lay round about (see 31st January, below)
Deep and crisp and even...
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HAVING previously done a feature on the Towy Valley birds doing their own Winter
Olympics in the snows of 2010, I've delayed my more traditional snow scenes
because the cold weather and snow has been reluctant to release its
grip. Another significant snowfall and I could have had more images to choose from.
Anyway, with March knocking on the door, now seems as good a time
as any to paste some memories into my scrapbook. Mind you,
in the hard winter of 1947
snow fell every day somewhere in Britain from January 22 to
March 17; indeed, someone |
told me recently that the
really critical snowfall which caused so much disruption and mayhem didn't arrive until the end of February, although the weather had
apparently remained desperately cold since January.
Be that as it may, my snow bulletin involving the birds kicked off with a
glorious slice of Shakespearean poetry - with matching picture - so I thought I'd do the same again,
inspired by the old path through the woods, which runs from Penlan Park,
Llandeilo, down through Castle Woods.
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Stopping by
Woods on a Snowy Evening
Robert Frost |
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Whose woods these are
I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. |
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I'M FOREVER serendipitously stumbling over new
words which I take an instant shine to. Not long back it was
"diptych": essentially a
single image
or photograph divided into two distinct canvas pieces placed
side by side .... each canvas print can be identically sized, or
two different-sized panels can be used ... when viewed together
they seem to be a single canvas print.
In my world I've adapted/adopted the word to mean a
couple of images of the same subject matter, but captured at
different moments, with perhaps a different focus. For example... |
When I set off on my morning walk and head for town, I climb the fields
behind the cottage before then beginning the gradual descent towards
civilisation. The views at the highest point are wonderful. As I drop
through the fields, on the horizon lies the Black Mountain, the focal
point of the ever
glorious Towy
Valley, with views stretching across the Carmarthenshire Fans.
In the wake of the second significant snowfall at the
beginning of January, I notice as I cross the carpet of white what must
be molehills neatly bulging under the snow. I sense a diptych... |
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Turning a White
Molehill into... |
...a Black Mountain |
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Whenever there's a
decent fall of snow in the Llandeilo area, the town's youngsters, along
with those who are young at heart, flock to Dinefwr Park, in
particular a field at the entrance to the park, just beneath the
famous beech trees . |
It's a field that is nearly perfect for sledging, with a levelling out
at the bottom allowing just enough space to come to a halt before
crashing into the fence at the bottom. Yes, the actual slope could be
longer, obviously, but still, it draws the punters. |
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The
sledging
field, above, is home to a flock of sheep, which go into
hiding... |
...whenever the
snow arrives (retain the image of the kayaking youngster, above) |
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Astonishing: The
Alps, Carmarthenshire!
(same field, the Black Mountain as a backdrop) |
But what goes up...
must come down... |
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...occasionally
with near horrendous consequences
(remember the kayaking youngster gathering his thoughts?) |
How it wasn't a bad
accident I shall never know - whew! - but what
makes people climb in the path of youngsters descending at
speed? |
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Meanwhile, back at the
diptych drawing board...
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Today, Dinefwr Park
... tomorrow, the Black Mountain ... the day after, the World |
But after the Lord
Mayor's snow, a solitary sheep reclaims the slope |
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Ancient battlements
and modern defences |
Same fence, after
the snow - but still frosty - looking into the sunrise |
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And now, a couple of
images which tickled my imagination...
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A local farm at
first light, when the cold was at its worst, confirming
that farming and care of stock never stops, whatever the
weather... |
Three melting
snowmen at Dinefwr Park ... and a glorious reminder
of the famous John Cleese and Two Ronnies sketch about "Class" |
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"People from a planet
without flowers would think we must be mad with joy the whole time to
have such things about us" Iris Murdoch
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Over on
Look
You I've just started what I guess is
the opposite of a Rogues' Gallery - a Charmers' Gallery? - which
will feature the eye-catching flowers that decorate my square
mile as the year unfolds.
While winter may not yet have
released its grip - indeed the farming forecast for the
week ahead gives "cold and frosty", with possibly some snow next weekend (March 5 - 8), but at least
the sun is slowly climbing in the sky and getting
stronger by the day, so winter is on its
way out. Tomorrow, Saint David's Day, the 1st of March, is due
to come in like a lamb - but will the 31st of March go out like a lion?
Whatever, the first flower of note to grace us with its
presence is of course the snowdrop - call me a galanthosnapper*,
an enthusiastic collector of snowdrop shots - but delayed several weeks this
year because of the extreme cold weather. But it duly arrived, it is
therefore the perfect flower to sign off my snow bulletin.
Incidentally, did you know that the leaves of snowdrops
are pre-strengthened, and they act like little ice picks to
enable them to push up through frozen ground. Nature equips them
to get through the most hostile of grounds - but I guess there
are limits. Happy galanthospotting*.
* A galanthophile (actual word) is an enthusiastic lover and
collector of snowdrops. |
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6th February 2010
The blue-tit special's steaming down the line...
GOODNESS
gracious me,
the above takes me back: "Over-the-points, over-the-points,
over-the-points … The six-five special’s steaming down the line…" And
Pete Murray would appear, as if by magic. Anyway, this bulletin was
going to be about the snows of January, but as is my wont I’ve been –
how shall I put this? – not so much derailed but diverted onto another
track.
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IT ALL began a few days ago when a letter from a Francis-Carlo
Bernhardi surfaced in the Daily Telegraph:
“I thought I'd
recycle some of my shredder's contents and line my blue-tit box
– a three-holer of German origin – to give a bit of a ‘home
start’ for any future residents. A couple turned up last week,
and their first job was to clean out my offering. What intrigued
me was that, rather than simply turf it out, they flew with
beakfuls of paper back and forth to some hawthorn, where they
perched and let drop their cargo. Was their action to protect
the whereabouts of their future home, or was the stuff so
repellent to them that they wanted it as far away as possible?
If I hadn't been observing, I would no doubt still be puzzled by
a scattering of ‘shreddies’ beneath the crataegus*.”
[*For a moment there I thought it was something to do
with the Court of King Caractacus - but apparently a "crataegus"
is a type of small hawthorn tree ... every day a day at school,
look you.]
Anyway, some Telegraph responses, the first from Val Osborne of
the RSPB: “Francis-Carlo Bernhardi shouldn’t take any offence.
Blue-tits are tidy and fastidious birds. When they arrive in a
box that appears to have been previously occupied, they will
give it a spring-clean and remove the contents before filling it
with their own material. Blue-tits are also smart. Mr
Bernhardi’s visitors carried the unwanted material some distance
away and deposited it in a hedge so it doesn’t draw predators’
attention to the nest. If you are putting a nest box out now,
there is no need to put anything in it: a house-proud garden
bird would much rather procure its own furnishings.”
A Wendy Alexandra Page adds:
“It is no wonder that the
blue-tits removed the shredded paper. They like to line their
nests with mint and lavender to kill bacteria and create a
sterile environment for their young.”
Also, Bernard J. Seward:
“The nesting blue-tits were probably intolerant of the
sulphite in what I presume was the office waste he had shredded.
Good, old-fashioned Daily Telegraph newsprint from mechanical
wood pulp would probably have been more acceptable.” |
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Now how could you not adore such a gorgeous and cheeky little
bird? |
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So I thought this was a grand opportunity to submit my tales of
close encounters of the bird kind to the Daily Telegraph, a condensed version
of the following, which is in fact a summary of previous bulletins
posted
on this site - but all new images...
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RECENT correspondence regarding bluetits brings to mind a
project I undertook some 12 months ago, an exercise to establish just how
difficult – or indeed how easy – it would be to seduce rural
songbirds to feed from hand. Along my daily early morning walk
I’d leave a trail of bird seed at selected spots – and
waited to see what would happen.
Just as with urban birds the robin was quickest off the
mark, a remarkable hit-and-run effort after just four weeks - but
it took another month before the robin accepted an invitation to
linger. |
Then came a sex-break – no, not me, the birds. The breeding season
arrived and food was relegated down the agenda – as with humans, a promise
of sexual intercourse trumps a tasty five-course meal, anytime.
As autumn approached the birds suddenly rediscovered
their appetite. The next bird to take feed from hand was, surprisingly,
a delightful little marsh tit, but that took nine months from the
time the project began; then came the bluetit (10 months) and the great tit (11
months). |
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The original Gavin Henson hairstyle, as spotted in the Towy
Valley |
Who was that masked bluetit? |
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The arrival of the cold weather changed things dramatically,
with robins and tits queuing up to land on my hand to take the
candy on offer. Other songbirds – chaffinch, nuthatch, sparrows,
blackbirds – venture within an arm’s length or so, but thus far
have steadfastly refused to make that final leap.
It seems the smaller the bird, the braver it is. So
much so - and as highlighted in the previous bulletin, just a
quick scroll down - the bluetits have taken possession of the
project.
They far outnumber all other birds – I would guess
about three times as many as any other |
species, perhaps more – and now the bluetits
commandeer my hand as soon as I stick it out, even standing their ground
against the great tit and the robin (again, see previous bulletin).
Curiously, at another, more isolated spot, a profusion
of great tits parade themselves - and no, you naughty people, I'm not
talking about the Crazy Horsepower's saloon bar.
The bluetits though are delightfully fearless and clever
little birds which seem to have adapted
effortlessly to everything humanity and mother nature can throw at them.
I am truly seduced. |
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Smile of the Day
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NORMALLY the "smile of the day" is something I feature over on
Look
You,
but something truly smiley happened this very morning along my
walk. After a somewhat overcast dawn, the cloud quickly parted
to unveil a delightfully sunny, pleasant – and whisper it –
spring-like morning.
The bird song was most noticeable. Now the breeding
season is still a hop, step and a jump away – |
indeed the latest weather forecast promises a return to colder weather
next week – but the birds are clearly beginning to pair up already. And
so it was this morning.
Now that the birds accept my presence without fear,
and even if they do have things on their mind other that grub, they will not
disappear into the undergrowth and trees when I enter their
space. |
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A couple of bluetit lovebirds?: "I'll take good care of you,
baby." |
Probably the same two bluetits following the big thaw |
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And so it was this morning: after putting out the usual
selection of candy, the
birds tucked-in with their usual enthusiasm – but a couple of bluetits were darting
hither and thither above my head. I was mesmerised. It clearly
wasn’t a mating-dance, but it most certainly looked like a
chat-up dance: "So what's a bad bird like you doing in a nice
place like this?"
Could it be the two birds featured above, which appear to
have made my hand a home from home? |
My initial impression was that the male was harassing the female
(at least I presume they are
male and female!). But the female would land on a branch, and the male
would alight just a short distance behind or above her. Off they’d go
again. But the male never actually “caught” the female. It was all very
"slow, slow, quick-quick, slow".
An absolute delight to watch – and all
unfolding just above my head. |
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Truly a "smile of the day" interlude – especially after what
happened up at Twickenham, later ... anyway, the letter has been
submitted. Curiously, while I've had a fair bit of success with letters
to the Times stable of newspapers, the Telegraph has never embraced my
"wit and wisdom"! My mother never bread a jibber, though.
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31st January 2010
When the snow lay round about...
WHAT better way to
start my January snow report than with a slice of poetry, with Newton
House as a suitable period piece (more or less), captured in a snow
storm...
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Shakespeare's
Winter from Love's Labour's Lost
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WHEN icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd, and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl:
'Tu-who;
Tu-whit, Tu-who'—A merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. |
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When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl:
'Tu-who;
Tu-whit, Tu-who'—A merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. |
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I found the above in a
quotation book while looking for something connected with snow - never
seen or heard it before, but I was quite taken.
However, a few words and expressions threw me...
"blows his nail" - blows on his hands to warm them
"keel the pot" - cool the contents of the pot by
stirring or pouring in something cold
"saw" - speech or sermon
"crabs" - crab apples
What really caught my eye though was the line "And birds sit brooding in
the snow". |
It's scrumdidilymptious |
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HAVING over the past year successfully enticed quite a few of the Towy
Valley's gorgeous little songbirds to take feed from hand, little did I
guess that the fiercely cold weather and picturesque snows of January would
add a whole new dimension to the project.
Undoubtedly the best known song from
Willy Wonka and
the Chocolate Factory
is
The Candy Man, in particular the Sammy Davis Jr
cover version, which starts with Davis talking to some children: "All
right everybody, gather round..." He then offers them all sorts of
goodies before announcing: "Anything you want you've come to the right
man ... 'cause I'm the candy man."
Followed by a highly smiley reaction when
all the kids chorus a singy-songy "Oooooooooo!".
In the previous
400 Smiles
bulletin I'd reached the stage where
the birds and me had reached a civilised but reserved arrangement regarding
restaurant bookings. Then the snow and that extreme frost arrived, and all
bets were off.
The word above,
"scrumdidilymptious",
comes compliments of Willy Wonka's Factory; indeed it |
sums up rather perfectly my experience while feeding the birds. Yes, it
was a bit of a
"scrum" - but the birds clearly found the
whole experience
"didilymptious". They would gather in significant numbers and impatiently await my arrival, often
zooming out into the field to greet me, even bombarding me, occasionally
landing on my head, so desperately hungry were they.
One of the more striking features
were the robins. They are fussy about other robins invading their space
and tucking into the
grub on offer, but during the really cold weather all aggressive
behaviour was put on hold. At
one point there were five of them lined up on a fence, indeed I was tempted into
paraphrasing the Sammy Davis version of The Candy Man:
"All right every birdie, gather round, the candy
man is here ... what kind of candy do you want? Sunflower hearts? Peanut
kernels? Thistle seed? Porridge oats? Suet pellets? Mealworm? A
sprinkling of digestive biscuit? Anything
you want, you've come to the right man ... 'cause I'm the candy man."
"Oooooooooo!" |
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FIRST up, a shot of several birds perched in the branches of a tree,
much like aircraft stacked up awaiting their call to land...
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...Which includes three robins perched and awaiting the call |
A robin establishes
"first contact" during a snowstorm |
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Little bluetits land at my feet ... |
... desperate for crumbs from the candy man's table |
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He said what?
"They melted me down to make Ant & Dec." Portly Sir Terry
Wogan on his Madame Tussaud's waxwork.
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So here are the Ant & Dec of the songbird world ... |
... and the Sir Terry Wogan of the songbird world |
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"Excuse me little
Ant," complains Sir Tel, "that, is mine." ... |
... "I don't
believe it - Ant and Dec!" Sir Tel morphs
into Victor Meldrew |
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"After you, baby - we tits must stick together." ... |
... "but this particular titbit belongs to this particular great
tit." |
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"Room for one very angelic Cock Robin?"
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One of my favourite birds: a marsh tit strikes an elegant pose
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Truth to tell the behaviour of the birds took me somewhat by surprise,
so deep down I'd welcome another short, sharp burst of cold weather to study
them a bit closer.
As I write, some snow is falling - but fairly light showers for the
moment...
Somewhat more traditional "square mile" snow scenes coming up over the
coming week
or so... |
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6th January 2010 (Happy New Year!)
Scroll down to the end of this particular bulletin for a remarkable
follow-up to...
The bird that swallowed a tennis ball
17th December 2009
+ Christmas Day addendum |
Oh go on, show us your tits
(and please, can I hold a great one in my hand?)
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MORE moons ago than I
care to remember I began keeping a scrapbook of those things
which catch my eye in newspapers, magazines, etc, etc. Often I
would
show to those who called at the house an article or picture that
had tickled my imagination; sometimes I pinned items up on the
notice board at the Crazy Horsepower Saloon bar, little things which regularly
amused the locals.
So when I dipped my toe into the world of the internet
and the web site it seemed totally logical that this would now
become my scrapbook. I moved from
cut and paste to copy and paste ...
lookyou
remains fairly faithful to the original concept, except of
course I now add my own comments and observations to
proceedings.
Here on 400 Smiles
its pretty much a scrapbook of those things I personally observe
that make me stand and stare and smile. An appreciation of my own square mile,
if you like; in particular what I encounter along my extended early morning
walks along the glorious and picturesque Towy Valley. |
Hopefully some
of this is of interest to those who venture into my
world. Indeed, the agreeable feedback suggests that, all in all, it's
working reasonably well.
In effect I'm producing and publishing my very own
magazine, albeit an amateur, seat-of-the-pants affair. As I think I've
mentioned before, one of the joys is making up headlines to go with any
given section.
I can only dream of even approaching the standards of the
professionals - The Sun newspaper being the uncrowned champion of the
"wel-i-jiw-jiw" front page - but it gives me lots of pleasure
having a go, so I can only hope that just occasionally a pass
mark is achieved.
This brings me neatly to the headline at the top. For
nearly a year now I've been dying to write that line.
So let's get on with it and
show you not just the one tit - but a real handful... |
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A gorgeous but quarrelsome
family of bluetits pop in for breakfast at Hubie's |
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SO HOW do you get from capturing on camera a bevy of beautiful little
tits furiously feeding on the bough ... to hosting a great tit - well,
not exactly in the palm of your hand - but on the tips of your fingers
(as featured alongside)? Well, thereby hangs a tale.
To recap. Last January, just under a year ago now, I encountered a friendly
robin along my walk. It hopped along the fence beside me as I walked
past - and it continued to follow me.
While I've always appreciated the
songbirds all around, I've never taken much interest. They are part of
nature's rich pattern, so I simply enjoy their presence. A bit like
having Oh Holy Night playing in the background at this time of
year.
But there was
something about this robin. Someone's feeding it, I remember thinking,
so I stuck out an open hand - and it
immediately landed and began pecking away furiously at my hand. The following day I
brought some feed - repeated the invitation ... and so began a sweet but
sadly short-lived relationship.
One
morning it wasn't there. Nor the next. Nor the one after. A victim of predation, I guess. Then I began to
wonder, as I tend to do ... what if I were to pick a spot as far away as possible from
Towy Valley 'civilisation', and then attempt to seduce totally wild birds to feed from
the hand.
I did a bit of research online and discovered that robins are
acknowledged as being people friendly and relatively easy to seduce to
feed from hand. Indeed, as I quickly discovered, and have previously
written about (in the bulletin dated
12th July 2009), I got a virgin robin to snatch feed from hand within
a month ... another month before it landed and decided it had a bit of
time to stand and stare.
Next,
and rather surprisingly, it was a tiny and delightful marsh tit which
started taking feed from my hand (covered in my bulletin dated
18th October 2009). But all the while
there were bluetits and great tits flitting around - and they were playing hard to get.
So it all looked like an uphill struggle.
What I was
ultimately aiming for was to stand clear of trees, hedges, fences -
indeed
to stand in the middle of a field, say, so that the birds would
then have to make a conscious and
dedicated effort
to get to the goodies in my hand.
So this is the grand old tale of why... |
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A tit in the hand is worth two in the bush
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After my escapade
enticing the 'virgin' robin to feed from hand, the bird that I
half-expected to be the next 'easiest' to seduce was the
chaffinch. They were always around and would allow me to get
quite close to them. |
So it was with
total surprise when the little marsh tit shot to my hand and helped
itself. The chaffinch had clearly drawn a line: so far, but no further.
Coming up below, a couple of shots showing two separate, but nervous,
great tits. |
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The look the great tit is
giving the chaffinch as it helps itself is wonderful. |
Another great tit watches
nervously as a marsh tit helps itself. |
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The great tit decides
that the feed on the branch looks much too inviting. |
A little bluetit adopts a
similar strategy to what's on the fence post. |
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It's one careful step
at a time as the bluetit edges ever nearer the goodies. |
When a bird makes that first
contact - the foot on my finger - it's a truly Magic Moment. |
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A pantomime moment as a
busy bee lands on the flower: "It's bee-hind you!" |
The great tit turns its bum to
camera, just a few feet away. A critical moment of trust. |
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Fear slowly but surely
dissipates as the great tit claims its prize. |
Similarly with the bluetit:
"Decisions ... decisions ... what shall I have for breakfast?" |
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Next comes standing
away from the tree: a great tit hovers but decides not this
time. |
Similarly with the bluetits:
two rush in and land at the same time - neither claims a prize. |
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Several days - and many,
many hours of patience ... success. Definitely a Magic Moment. |
Actually, of all the birds, it
was a bluetit that was first to land out in the field. |
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With growing confidence
the birds now start to get quite cocky about it all. They dive
in, land on my outstretched hand - and often take a good look about
them before tucking in. When I saw the image, above, what came
instantly to mind was the famous Hollywood quote:
“All right Mr De Mille, I’m ready for my close-up.” |
Just to
check out the quote, I googled it - and landed on Wikipedia – Sunset
Boulevard (film), where the famous line comes from. As I scrolled
down I came upon the above, back-lit picture of Norma Desmond (actress
Gloria Swanson), who utters the memorable line at the end of the film.
Compare the pose, the turned-up nose ... great ... a
different sort of Magic Moment, for sure. |
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Christmas Day round robin |
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On Christmas Eve the following letter appeared in the Daily Telegraph,
from Andy Charles of Newbury in Berkshire...
Rotund
robin:
SIR – If robins do not put on weight by eating little
and often, (report, December 22), why does the one in my garden look as
if he has swallowed a tennis ball?
I
submitted the following response...
Round robin: SIR
– Further to the robin that looks as if it has swallowed a tennis ball
(letter, December 24), it has nothing to do with what they eat but
rather the weather. During very cold weather birds puff themselves up to
help ward off the cold. And the robin does this rather more
spectacularly than most.
And here's one I
photographed during the recent cold snap...
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Here's definitely lookin' at you,
kid. |
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6th January 2010 addendum...
The curious case of poor little Cock Robin Junior
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LISTENING to Radio
Wales on the morning of 30th December (I think), a lady called Alex
Pollard was a guest. She is studying the effects of artificial light on
urban birds - but robins in particular because they have
large eyes, relatively speaking.
Now I like to think I'm an observant person, but
curiously not when it comes to superficial things. I
can meet someone and immediately afterwards, not only will I not remember
that individual's
name, but |
have no idea of the colour of eyes,
hair, clothes, etc ... but I will have registered little character
traits, body language, is the person a dolphin or a shark, a pussycat or
a polecat, etc, etc...
Now I hadn't noticed that the robins have particularly
large eyes, but here's a strange thing, or rather, here's a couple of
photographs. Well, it's just the one photograph, but the
second is a tightly cropped version of the robin's eye... |
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What I'd
noticed was my reflection in the bird's eye. Look closely and
you can clearly see the sun rising - and alongside, that's me. I
was flabbergasted that the reflection was so clear, bearing in
mind that, as you can see from the original, above, I wasn't all
that close. Armed with Alex Pollard's insight, clearly the size
of the robin's eye has something to do with this.
Since then I've been trying to capture a really
up-close photograph to establish just how clear my reflection
could be. Trouble is, I can now stick the camera close to the
birds without frightening them off, but they never stand still,
which makes it impossible to focus and capture a decent shot.
But I will keep on trying. |
In the meantime, another robin has
captured my attention. Now quite a few robins come to my candy shop, but
because where I put the food down doesn't appear to be the territory of
any one particular robin, they get on reasonably well ... well, except
for one little robin, a small one, a teenager I presume - and all the
other robins pick on the poor little thing and drive him off quite
aggressively.
I presume it's a he - whatever, I've grown
exceptionally protective of the little thing as it dives into my hand to
take feed. But it gradually dawned on me that there was something
unusual about this robin. A series of pictures coming up ... see if you
notice anything odd... |
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Above, first contact, the little
robin lands on a branch to pick and peck .... while alongside, much
later, it lands on my thumb to take feed...
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Above, the bird settles on my thumb ... and alongside, it squats happily
in my hand - a wonderful shot which sums up the trusting nature of the
little thing...
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And again, above, and alongside, in
the company of another of my morning-walk "pals" - the robin gets a bit jittery
when old long-face comes too close. Well ... have you noticed something?
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A clue: above, another robin ... note how it
lands on my thumb ... whereas alongside, our little friend does a
delicate balancing act...
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And then, suddenly,
in the image above, the
answer. It is always squatting because it has only one leg.
Extraordinary. I then returned to an earlier photograph: when I captured
the image alongside, above,
I had no idea it was our friendly Jake the Peg, I just assumed this
particular robin coming in to land had only extended one leg, the other coming down
after I'd clicked the shutter.
How astonishing is that? And how
vulnerable does that make the poor thing? I have since noticed that the
robin does actually still have most of its leg, or at least it appears that it's
only the foot itself that is missing. How could that have happened? I
have seen a dreaded sparrow hawk in the area, so do you suppose
that it had grabbed the robin by the foot - but the bird managed
to escape? Who knows?
But more to the point,
I've always maintained that if you want to understand people, first study the
creatures of the wild. In the news just this week has been the dreadful
tale a disabled family being persecuted by those in their own community -
shocking stuff, and on the local news they showed video footage of their car being ruthlessly vandalised.
Quite vicious, mostly the work of youngsters, it seems. |
Meanwhile, here in the Towy Valley,
I watch the
other robins continually harass this little bird because of its
disability (I guess). All of nature's creatures clearly have some intuitive need
to attack the defenceless. Incidentally, it flies okay. At least it can
keep out of the way of the other robins as they chase after it. How long
this robin will survive, especially in this extreme weather - well, it's
anyone's guess. But it has done remarkably well to survive this far. I
mean, how can you not feel protective towards the poor little thing. And
it is so loveable as it looks at me and appears to say "Thank you, thank
you, thank you..." Or perhaps that's just me getting carried away.
Yesterday morning, Sarah Kennedy played Julie Andrews'
Feed the Birds on her radio show: "I do wish the dear Dame would
talk more clearly," remarked Sarah with tongue-firmly-in-cheek after the
song had finished. Indeed. Not only is the dear Dame blessed with a
truly melodic voice - but her enunciation is top drawer. However, back
with the song, it
made me come over all goose-bumpy, I can tell you, listening to those wonderful words. Here's just a few
appropriate lines... |
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"Come, buy my bags full of crumbs.
Come feed the little birds, show them you care
And you'll be glad if you do.
Their young ones are hungry,
Their nests are so bare;
All it takes is tuppence from you."
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Whenever the
robin alights on my hand, I now always think of one of
broadcaster Roy Noble's favourite lines: "May only good luck
come to your door." Amen to that.
And finally, for something completely different: on
Monday the 4th, weatherman Derek Brockway included a photograph
of mine on his Wales Today evening weather forecast. |
It's one I captured at the oxbow
lake along my morning walk.
As the
frosts became more severe the lake quickly began to ice over. Slowly but
surely Mother Nature pulled the wagons into an ever tighter circle,
pushing all sorts of birds - swans, geese, ducks, coots, etc - ever
closer together into the centre of the lake.
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| As the
weather got progressively colder there were often hundreds of
birds present, but as things get more extreme all the geese have
already moved on, just some ducks coming in to land. What is
most interesting are the swans. In normal conditions they are
happy to share the lake with other birds, except geese, mostly,
which for some reason irritate them no end. |
However, they do not like any bird
invading their own personal space - just like humans! - yet here we are,
as Jack Frost tightens its grip, it's a case of "We're all in this boat
together!". Again, just like we humans!
See you soon... |
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