Monday, 6 June 2016

cuckoos and fieldguns

At its usual time, the otter bumped and splashed its way along the underside of the boat. I checked; 0120. I thought of scrambling to the after hatch to see if I could see it, but remembered all the piles of stuff in the way and I couldn't find my torch. The bumping receded; then there was a whistly sort of noise in the distance. Then silence.

When I reawoke, it was twilight and the birds were singing. I made strong tea and went outside. In the still air, high jetliners traced slow white lines into the sunlight that was yet to reach down to the vale.

The strange bird's peeping noise that had flummoxed me yesterday was there again, close at hand. I finally saw linnets; a first for me.  

me old cock linnet

...and me old hen linnet too, guv, gorblimey
 It was a morning it was hard to tear myself away from; the heron warned of its passing with a polite cronk, and I grabbed the camera just in time.

The kestrel flew into its nest hole in the solitary oak.

As the day warmed up, we heard a cuckoo from far across the fields.

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