Saturday, August 18, 2007

Some days....

Some days it's difficult to find the words to blog with. Other days there isn't enough time to write it all down. Sometimes enjoyable, other times a chore. Relentlessly I plug away, bashing the keys and allowing thoughts to become tangible.

Today is an easy day.

I'm recording some programmes from my Sky+ machine onto some DVD discs - namely a bunch of Doctor Who series two episodes. It's about six thirty in the evening. Inbetween babysitting the recording sessions, I go to make coffee.

Outside it's grey. Drizzly rain, pale grey clouds, wet stone slabs. The kettle is boiling, and in the interim period (where I am sure I would have smoked a cigarette in a previous incarnation) I pick up a bamboo skewer and rake it across the metal of a kitchen draining device. An improvised percussive instrument.

Outside the window, in the shrubs and ferns of my garden, I fix my eyes, searching for the tell tale shudders that indicate the presence of a feathered friend. I watch a sparrow fly under a shrub and turn and fly straight back out again. Something or someone disagreed with the little chap. I drop the bamboo skewer and crane my neck and strain my eyes for a sign of what else could be in there.

The smallest of garden birds comes into view. About the size of a very small mouse, and the same colour, it's the wren. My favourite garden visitor (besides the hedgehogs of course). I watch the little wren as it perches on a plant pot and takes a sip of rainwater. It drops down onto the slimy Yorkshire stone flags in front of my kitchen window. Out of sight.

I move across to the end of the windows, and see the bird on the floor. The wren is taking a bath in a small pool of water that's collected in the worn corner of a stone paving slab. The water no deeper than a couple of millimetres is ample for this tiny creature.

Awesome. Priceless.

The bird finishes its bath and hops up onto a ladder. Feathers puffed out, it's now about the size of a golfball. I can see the little spots on the feathers and a droplet of water on the end of her beak. She shudders the spray of water off and flies away.

1 comment:

  1. you. are. a. truly. great. bird. watcher. perhaps. the. greatest. of. them. all. move. over. bill. oddie. you. should. be. on. springwatch.

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