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I’ve lived in Lanarkshire all of my 38 years, and in that time I have seen my local area change beyond all recognition, and definitely not for the better. From the appearance of massive identikit housing estates where rolling fields once rang to the song of yellowhammers, the inexorable process of urbanisation goes on as the local authorities undertake a concerted effort to eradicate every sign of nature- or so it seems. The nature- filled halcyon days of my childhood are a swiftly receding memory, replaced by the creeping horror of what is replacing them. Its important, I think, to highlight what we, as nature lovers in general and bird lovers in particular, still have, for the moment at least.
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Another Evening, Another Cause For Reflection

Posted Sunday 12th August 2012 at 23:00 by Green Sandpiper
This evening birding is pretty addictive. Found myself back at CAthkin Marsh a few evenings ago, spurred on by a report of Whinchat and Tree Sparrows. A beautiful, warm evening showed the surrounding countryside at its best. I marvelled again at just how undefinably special this place is.

A massed flock of corvids rent the quiet evening air with the raucous calls, I took the time to stop and really appreciate these birds.

The reserve itself was, as I suspected, almost errily quiet. Only the gulls and crows in the distant rent the quiet air with calls, but their harsh calling was drowned by the silence of the reserve.

A heron hunted silently, before taking off and disappering into the marsh. A solitary reed bunting rose in fluttering flight before diving back to the ground. As I sat, allowing the warm breeze and silence to wash over me, I saw, high above, squadrons of swallows wheeling and swooping, fattening up before emabrking on their long, perilous journey back to Africa.

Watching these aerial acrobats, the happy wanderers, I was suddenly filled with a sense of mortality, of the brevity and precarious nature of life. Once gone, would these swallows be back after their long winter? Would I be back to see them, in this special place, I wondered.

But then I realised, whatever the answer to those questions, the truth is, you have to savour the moment, any moment. Savour each moment for what it is, something unique and never to be repeated- the particular swallow who flew inches over my head is unlikely to ever do so again, even if it did, it wouldn't elicit exactly the same response.

Each moment is special, each bird- corvid or eagle or the multide in- between- is special, and should be appreciated.

If you don't, or if you can't, then what the hell have you got to look forward to?
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