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Message: <blockquote data-quote="halftwo" data-source="post: 1632016" data-attributes="member: 45720">Thousands of FieldfaresLake Vyrnwy: dawn.From the hotel balcony the lake awakes mistily, stretching out as the air lightens. The sky, divided into great sections by steep undulating hillsides, becomes mother-of-pearl: a concave shell ten miles across, in a dozen glistening shades, sheltering the new day.The hillsides a symphony of colours: golden oaks, copper beeches, larches on fire in flaming glorious rows, Scots pines in deep green and rowens dipped in berried blood. Already the Fieldfares swirl and swarm - flocks of hundreds blinking paley in the dawn's bright: pale-rumped and russet-winged and chattering in streams. Among them and flocking separately: Redwings, Blackbirds and Song thrushes - 'seeeps' fall like soft rain amid the waterfall of leaves.Calling Siskins and Chaffinches hop the treetops and spiral down, joining the thrushes. The first Buzzard's plaintive calls; and the first Raven's answering 'cronk'. But over the farm two Red kites begin an endless, effortless, tail-twisting search for carrion.Nearby a Marsh tit calls and shows - carrying a beechnut; Jays flash and hide; Goldcrests and Treecreepers hiss secretly. And, amongst the Chaffinches coming to trees below, a single white rump of the winter's first Brambling briefly burns and is extinguished in autumn branches.  Across the lake the gorgeous gothic tower sets the scene in silent magestic perfection.</blockquote>

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