The first impression was the natural sounds. You’re never far from the distant hum of the A605 by the river, or the sound of floods going over a weir, but this was totally different. A robin, songthrush, the skirl of a red kite and a raven kronking as it flew a few fields away. And skylarks.
As I passed Crossway Hand Farm and walked along the edge of the forest a fox crossed the path ahead, its dun coat far from the rich red it will soon become. The pond by the path near Blackmore Thick farm usually has a life size ornamental crocodile lurking in its shallows, which has made me jump as I passed at dusk to listen to nightingales in the past. Whether it was covered by flood water or had been moved, it was disconcerting to find it wasn’t there, as if it might have waddled away of its own accord and be waiting behind a tree…
It was hard to picture the forest as it had been last September, or to imagine the sounds of May, but as I walked beyond to open sloping fields the skylarks really came into their own. There was an epic battle going on for territory between half a dozen birds over a space about the size of a football pitch. Every now and then one would take off and skitter around, spitting out sparks as up to three other birds at a time buzzed each other near the ground, with lots of near misses and angry recriminations. It sounded more like a rap battle or Charlie Parker-style bebop cutting contest than the beautifully sleepy stringworld of dear old Ralph!
Walking back along the line of a stream that is often dry there were some lovely sounds in places, low gurgles and swishes. In drought years I’ve longed for those sounds in the landscape – now they are everywhere. Back to the car. More ravens kronking. A great morning out…
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