Wednesday, 25 November 2015
This autumn has been a very mild one with temperatures frequently in double figures until a cold snap descended over the weekend, bringing a thick frost.
Did you hear the clockwork calls of pheasants repeating along the woodland edge in the early morning?
The night before, a barn owl crossed my path, a moments apparition from the dark illuminated in headlight beams. A few miles away (off the patch) another had been perched on a fencepost. A pale shape turned, crouched, prepared; flight was close.
Tuesday morning however dawned mild once more, and damp. The weakened sun struggled to draw back a curtain of heavy drizzle.
By mid morning the sun had eked out a small victory, and so I decided to walk to work across my patch.
I have been busy, and have not had opportunity to walk the route I took yesterday for at least several days if not a couple of weeks, so it was good to catch up, see what changes the weather and ever-turning seasons had wrought.
I certainly wasn't expecting to encounter a waft of golden summer! But my nose didn't lie and there in the hedgerow, beside the fire station, was indeed a tendril of honeysuckle complete with a couple of sweetly-scented clotted-cream-coloured clusters of flowers!
Another unseasonable flower beamed at me from the bog alongside Jubilee Path. Unreachable, out in the muddied and waterlogged reaches at the edge of the snippet of woodland was a bright yellow kingcup or marsh marigold, bold as brass, cheered by on the the calls of a tit flock in the branches above.
The tit flock was mixed, including the great tit in black bowler hat & tie and blue tits the colours of Spring flowers beneath Spring sky.
For the first time this year, I found that attempting to walk the path alongside the Rother and skirting the edge of Cowdray meadows required me to pick my steps carefully and stick to the grass where the vegetation bound the mud tightly. Squirrels chattered to one another in the branches, and the ever alert blackbird took panicked flight as I approached the corner of the path. He had been feasting on windfalls from a feral apple tree at the edge of the meadow, beyond the old iron gate at the foot of St Anne's Hill.
Mistle thrushes guard clumps of mistletoe in the tops of the linden trees, a high view point from where they mark the progress of any threat to their living winter food store.
The moles had moved their mountains up the bank. beneath the rushes the flood meadows are becoming waterlogged; a sure sign winter is coming.
- Sophie May Lewis
- Hello! Thank you for viewing my blogs and profile. I am passionate about the countryside and british wildlife and I hope that this comes through in my blog. I am a nature writer and have been pursuing photography since early teenage years, whilst building a career in conservation. Helping people to reconnect with the natural world is very important to me, whether through direct hands on interaction, education or literature. Please also visit my website www.sophieco.co.uk, for more information, my current CV, and further examples of writing and photography. You can contact me or keep up to date with new blog posts via Twitter @SophiEcoWild and/or Facebook.com/SophiEcoWild Feedback, comments and audience participation are always welcome! Sophie May Lewis