At the still point of the turning world
It's a cold winter dawn. Thousands of Pink-footed Geese rise from the wastes of The Wash. The air is full of their sounds - voices wink-winking while their wings strike the resistant air. You feel for them. The water, and the air, is cold, though they are well covered. But families have to rise, and with what seems to be a sense of reluctance, they work their muscles to lift. They are directed to the sugar beet fields where they will spend the day chomping rapidly on the greens, before heading back at dusk in their ragged skeins to the relative safety of The Wash.
A winter special.
On another day, the chilly air tinged toward dusk, thousands of Knot darken the horizon as the tide seeps in.
This is an astonishing spectacle. Depending on the tides, and the winds, the time of day and your availability, you can watch while thousands (maybe even tens of) of birds explode into the air, distant ships and trees along the far coast taking no notice.....
Oystercatchers remain grounded, seemingly unperturbed by the whirring mass of Knot above their heads.....
Later in the day, however, I catch a spray of them (the Oystercatchers) heading across the waves in their turn......
Meanwhile, uncertain, skipping the incoming waters, a group of Sanderling (and a trio of Turnstone) gather on the shoreline to-ing and fro-ing like clockwork as the tide advances.
At the same time (correct me if I err) a squabble of Dunlin probe the mud, less worried about the incoming waters....
And occasionally you can see Knot as individuals - their winter plumage not unlike so many others - stabbing at the muddy shallows.
While a pair of Bar-tailed Godwits (hard to believe, but.... a Bar-tailed Godwit sets world record with 13,560km continuous flight from Alaska to southern Australia - is that why they are called God Wits?) strut their stuff in the shiny shallows.....
Then a Curlew, once a common sight but now sadly diminished, whistles past, its colours again the winter camouflage as so many waders, but the downturned beak a giveaway....
Meanwhile, on the sheltered lagoon behind the sea walls a male Teal floats as easy and majestic as a tiny galleon, proud and unsinkable as can be......
As a shady Goldeneye also trims his sails and respects his plimsoll line.....
And a pair of Wigeon coast past in winter harmony.....
On the beach, flitting nervously about, bright and fancy, I espy a Snow Bunting.....
And then there's an eruption of them, springing their energies across the shingles.....
Their flights are excited and trilling, like a shower of notes from something by Liszt or Chopin - too quick to stop, but light and thrilling....
Inland, a male Stonechat, brightly takes off to evade my view......
And on a frosty fencepost a delicate Meadow Pipit poses for me....
Before realising the risk and taking flight
Though I am not the real risk. Here a Marsh Harrier prepares for his plunge into the reed bed....
And within sight of the golden cockerel wind vane above the spire of St Mary's a Red Kite parades with the remains of some hapless chicken.....
Down to earth, a Little Egret rests on the edge of the marsh.....
And a Grey Heron stalks quietly to find a fishing hole.....
I love the world of birds - constantly uplifting, brilliantly alive. I am not twitcher, no ornithologist, nor even a birder. I just love to see the disciples of St Francis take the air, and I love to hear their shrill calls, or their mellifluous songs. I take solace in sharing this planet with so much diversity, so many individual lives, though I worry that today is not tomorrow, and sadly fear that we are gradually destroying what could have once been paradise.
And it is not only for the birds. I face a gentle red-poll heifer in the frosted field, her look of bemused trust an accusation that I have not used all my power to make things better....
And later, in the shallow sunshine a hare sits softly in thought, unaware of the dangers around the corner. What a mad world this is.
And as I slowly creep back to my overheated home, to restore my pampered bones with a bath and a glass, a tiny Wren shrieks at me to remember to love the world, and not just myself.....
And then, breaking the air waves, a swan wings over me, majestic in its sinuous agility. If only I could fly like that! If only I could walk like that! If only I could be like that......
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
William Butler Yeats
The Wild Swans at Coole
The nights are cold, but the sun has been shining, warming the air. Winter will be gone, though the passage to Spring is never without surprises. The birds in my garden watch for my scattered feeds, hungry to keep themselves alive, though with gleams of the snowdrops and the rising daffodils the sap is rising in everything. I have seen Harriers dancing and Kites prancing - it won't be long before the Hares are mad.....
At the still point of the turning world, neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
Burnt Norton
Let us dance.......
