halftwo
Wird Batcher
Along long lanes crisscrossing the country heading nowhere in particular you find a field bright from the cut, shaved for hay, and upon it a congregation of birds. These middle moors rise towards the hanging sky, draped skirt-like, dirty grey but beginning to shine.
The first you will see are the Starlings striding, squabbling, squawking, dark amongst the straw spikes. Then dozens of Lapwings, bottle green backs and twin feather crests, their young downy and big legged and almost independent.
Curlews stalk and push long curved bills deep into the rain softened soil, standing tall amongst smaller birds. Nine more glide down, calling through the drizzle and slowly settle in the stubble.
Nearer the tubbled wall two Skylarks pick daintily between yellow stalks, horizontal backs parallel to the land, then rise in song as the sky lifts slightly. Bedraggled House sparrows darkened by the soak begin to chirp and hop in the field.
Then a Ringed plover walks into view - pebble-headed and orange legged, with its matching bill half hidden by soil. It has two duller-coloured young and pipes soft peeps of anxiety as they weave their way through the straw as tall as they are. A young Starling approaches, curious at this little wader, and they pass.
A hidden Snipe, most cryptic of this crowd, suddenly breaks from cover and calls as it lifts and flies to taller grasses adjacent.
Following the Swallows swoop down the long escarpment where walls give way to hedges, summer heavy and sodden, where elder shrubs droop under huge bosses of blossoms - bowls of cream good enough to lap, Stock doves flap by and the Yellowhammer trips from the hawthorn with a wheeze.
A Sparrowhawk stops the Whitethroat's song and it drops from the post to the gorse. The Swallows follow in angry pursuit and the hawk rounds the hill top as the sun begins to yellow the sky.
Young Tree sparrows chip from the copse and the kek of a woodpecker kicks from the tree trunk as it bounds away.
From the sun-shortened lanes leading home a Pied wagtail takes a run and takes to the warmer air, shaking rain off as it goes.
The first you will see are the Starlings striding, squabbling, squawking, dark amongst the straw spikes. Then dozens of Lapwings, bottle green backs and twin feather crests, their young downy and big legged and almost independent.
Curlews stalk and push long curved bills deep into the rain softened soil, standing tall amongst smaller birds. Nine more glide down, calling through the drizzle and slowly settle in the stubble.
Nearer the tubbled wall two Skylarks pick daintily between yellow stalks, horizontal backs parallel to the land, then rise in song as the sky lifts slightly. Bedraggled House sparrows darkened by the soak begin to chirp and hop in the field.
Then a Ringed plover walks into view - pebble-headed and orange legged, with its matching bill half hidden by soil. It has two duller-coloured young and pipes soft peeps of anxiety as they weave their way through the straw as tall as they are. A young Starling approaches, curious at this little wader, and they pass.
A hidden Snipe, most cryptic of this crowd, suddenly breaks from cover and calls as it lifts and flies to taller grasses adjacent.
Following the Swallows swoop down the long escarpment where walls give way to hedges, summer heavy and sodden, where elder shrubs droop under huge bosses of blossoms - bowls of cream good enough to lap, Stock doves flap by and the Yellowhammer trips from the hawthorn with a wheeze.
A Sparrowhawk stops the Whitethroat's song and it drops from the post to the gorse. The Swallows follow in angry pursuit and the hawk rounds the hill top as the sun begins to yellow the sky.
Young Tree sparrows chip from the copse and the kek of a woodpecker kicks from the tree trunk as it bounds away.
From the sun-shortened lanes leading home a Pied wagtail takes a run and takes to the warmer air, shaking rain off as it goes.
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