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Wird Batcher
Cold and grey and cloud from ridge to ridge and in the frigid air along the triple wires a hundred birds space themselves in equidistant blips.
Forty Mistle Thrushes and fifty Starlings heavy on the lines and several Linnets and Goldfinches twittering. Chaffinches from nearby trees join the crowded wires. Rooks on stone walls sitting like black cats. Stillness and quiet and a little cold breeze.
Suddenly the Swallows skimming the grass begin to alarm - crescendo rising as they head for the low sky. And there, head on and fast, whipping its wings towards the crowd: a Hobby.
Amongst them before they could take flight and flee the falcon spins above and then drops toward a Goldfinch still perched and separate on the wire. At the last it finds its wings and dives from the Hobby and, too close to the wire, the falcon has to swerve to make another attack - the finch tries to flee. But the Hobby flicks its flexible primaries twice and doubles its speed.
Half a second later and the falcon is within reach but the finch makes a jink and avoids the snatch. The Hobby turns and accelerates away, rising towards the Swallows swirling above.
The air fills with birds: all those from the wires and many flocks more - finches bunching and heading away. Rooks and Crows follow the falcon but it speeds away towards the trees - turning back down the valley and is gone.
Now the birds have dispersed - scattered and hidden.
Out along the marshy lane the willow herb spires spike purple in drifts and gorse in buds hugs the slopes. At the ridge top the heather at its purple best brightens the dull day.
Bullfinches nip at ripe rowen berries and Spotted Flycatcher dart for the few flies flying in the cold air. The trees are quiet - a single Song Thrush hides low amongst the sprawling brambles, discreet.
Brown Hares break from the woods and canter upslope as a Kestrel parachutes to thump a vole in the wet grass. It takes its prey and harries a Buzzard before caching it in a stone wall.
Two Lesser Redpolls fly off and Meadow Pipits flicker along the path.
Then sharp calls of a Little Owl's alarm rises from a cleft in the land as a Brown Hare scampers, ears flattened along its back and once again the Hobby is coming head on above the trees.
It passes quickly and turns toward the plantation against the ridge. Finches are spiraling and the falcon darts at the pine tops in an arc.
The falcon carries on over the ridge and along - finally visible again out east before it vanishes for good above the hill.
A cold light rain slaps the day's end. The birding is done.
Forty Mistle Thrushes and fifty Starlings heavy on the lines and several Linnets and Goldfinches twittering. Chaffinches from nearby trees join the crowded wires. Rooks on stone walls sitting like black cats. Stillness and quiet and a little cold breeze.
Suddenly the Swallows skimming the grass begin to alarm - crescendo rising as they head for the low sky. And there, head on and fast, whipping its wings towards the crowd: a Hobby.
Amongst them before they could take flight and flee the falcon spins above and then drops toward a Goldfinch still perched and separate on the wire. At the last it finds its wings and dives from the Hobby and, too close to the wire, the falcon has to swerve to make another attack - the finch tries to flee. But the Hobby flicks its flexible primaries twice and doubles its speed.
Half a second later and the falcon is within reach but the finch makes a jink and avoids the snatch. The Hobby turns and accelerates away, rising towards the Swallows swirling above.
The air fills with birds: all those from the wires and many flocks more - finches bunching and heading away. Rooks and Crows follow the falcon but it speeds away towards the trees - turning back down the valley and is gone.
Now the birds have dispersed - scattered and hidden.
Out along the marshy lane the willow herb spires spike purple in drifts and gorse in buds hugs the slopes. At the ridge top the heather at its purple best brightens the dull day.
Bullfinches nip at ripe rowen berries and Spotted Flycatcher dart for the few flies flying in the cold air. The trees are quiet - a single Song Thrush hides low amongst the sprawling brambles, discreet.
Brown Hares break from the woods and canter upslope as a Kestrel parachutes to thump a vole in the wet grass. It takes its prey and harries a Buzzard before caching it in a stone wall.
Two Lesser Redpolls fly off and Meadow Pipits flicker along the path.
Then sharp calls of a Little Owl's alarm rises from a cleft in the land as a Brown Hare scampers, ears flattened along its back and once again the Hobby is coming head on above the trees.
It passes quickly and turns toward the plantation against the ridge. Finches are spiraling and the falcon darts at the pine tops in an arc.
The falcon carries on over the ridge and along - finally visible again out east before it vanishes for good above the hill.
A cold light rain slaps the day's end. The birding is done.
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