The clear, bright still morning revealed the April freshness at Roswell Pits. Blackcaps sang in the open- not yet the skulkers of Summer, and the Harriers swung high overhead. there were no new arrivals as far as I could tell- and no sign of the Treecreeper seen the other day. A Cetti's Warbler busily patrolled up and down the length of his territory, and in nearby bushes, three Great tits squabbled, chasing each other like out of control electrons in orbit around a nucleus.
Out on the fen, one field in particular seemed to attract more activity than elsewhere. Yellowhammers, Meadow Pipits and Skylarks were dotted over the bare soil, and with them were six Wheatears and a Yellow Wagtail.
