The fieldfares have disappeared, but they have not gone very far. They stripped all the pyrecantha bushes around the allotment boundaries and then flew up the hill to find some more prickly shrubs. Happy little flock - red berries in beak.
The parakeets who fill the cemetery with their noise are silent. But I am sure they are there feeding on the apples which hang, unpicked on the trees bordering the site. These are not my apples. Peck away, you hardy and glamourous exotics.
The heron flew over my head on the way back from the shops. Neck tucked in, big wings flapping slowly, heading out to the melting ice of some domestic pond. Koi on the menu today?
And those darn pigeons. I tell you, if there was a way to trampoline on black netting and peck at our curly kale they would find it.
A robin sings on the tree outside our window. The sweetest winter song.
You demonstrate a keen eye for nature....Very pleasing to read.
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