feeling breckish.

A continental morning, pine fresh plantation, looking out across a hazy heath with Larks already melting into the shimmer.

A day in the Brecks, so near and yet so different to the wet plains to the west. A Nuthatch was busy bringing flakes of bark to its hole, every minute or so while others announced their presence with great whooping and piercing calls. 

A lighter song, tinsel fine, betrayed the presence of the Firecrest. Tumbling through the coniferous finery, gleaning the branches of the tall Birch, then disappearing into the Holly bushes in the shady understorey.

Across the open heath the larks fell silent. The dribbling and tootling stopped in expectation.

Gos.

A young bird circling casually, emerging from the Sun's glare.

A brief lunge from a Crow didn't disturb the young Goshawk overly, and it carried on, slowly circling, drifting away, presence felt.

 

More sparrow

 

return of the passer.

For years the House Sparrow has been an uncommon visitor in the garden. Their old barn was renovated nearly two decades ago, and the upshot was no more Sparrows chirping on lazy Summer's days. No more chittering on the chitting shed roof. 

But this Spring - for some reason - a couple of males have taken up residence at the back of the house behind my studio. Maybe it's because the bramble has mushroomed into a great basilica of intertwined sprays of thorns - who knows. I've not yet seen a female around, so it's not clear if they're back properly, but finger's crossed....