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Morning Chorus…

Winter seclusion –

sitting propped against

the same worn post 

Basho (1644 – 1694)

The Sound Of Water Translated by Sam Hamill

Dawn cracks open the star speckled sky, painting grey clouds in rosy hue. First birds attend the feeders, squabbling quietly among themselves. Shaggy black rooks sit observing the scene from the old mossy gate before ascending the telegraph pole to view the breaking day…

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Winters arrival…

A bitter wind sweeps in across the land, fleeing the snow clad mountains, gleaming brightly across the narrow strait. Now dark in shadow, playing peepbo with the clouds…

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The Promise of Snow?

Snow topped hills all around but here the land lies frosted brown, no snow, just the biting wind turning fingers, instantly, blue. Log fires are the order of the day, as the islands disappear beneath the snow clouds reappearing cloaked more heavily in winters clothes…

At last the cold has come, sodden garden now a “crunch” and not a “squish” but still the Calendula flowers, warm flecks of colour in the dull garden. Except the lawn is brilliant green as the grass gives way to moss. The garden echoes to a new bird song as twelve long-tailed tits alight upon the fir trees, momentarily appearing like a forgotten Christmas tree.

No sign of the Greenfinches this year, but the Chaffinches, Dunnocks, Blackbirds, Robins, Sparrows, Wren and a plethora of various tits soon empty the feeders. Greedy hens encamp beneath to snatch up fallen seed. The bare boughs, punctuated with fattening buds glistening brightly in the setting sun, bear witness to the coming Spring….

Thanks for stopping by today – hope you are staying warm & dry too!

 

 

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