“She decided to free herself, dance into the wind, create a new language. And birds
fluttered around her, writing “yes” in the sky.”
“Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.”
― Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice
I am an amateur birdwatcher. For me, there are few things more enjoyable than to go into a free and open space with my binoculars, and just observe, and wonder. Birds help to heal me. I watch them, flying so effortlessly through the sky, and I wonder at their perfection. Their freedom. My current favourite place to watch birds is RSPB Rainham Marshes, in Purfleet, Essex (http://cut.do/37) . Although it’s bounded by a busy train line, and the A3016, this reserve, in the Thames Estuary, is a marvellous space where the sky seems endless, and where the wet grasslands, marshes and ditches are alive with wildlife. Visiting there is like going on holiday. There’s always something new to look at, and I’ve got into the habit of recording everything I see in a notebook. Here is what I noticed last time I visited, on June 1st. Looking at the list has made me smile on a dull day.
Seen: Avocets and chicks by the Aveley pools. Black headed gulls scrapping and screeching in unruly gangs. Buzzard and marsh harrier hunting overhead. Blue tits and great tits on a bird feeder, and flitting through trees in the woodland area. Canada geese and goslings. Coots with their fuzzy chicks. Ducks: mallard, pochard, shovelers, shelducks. Constantly diving tufted ducks with DA hairdos. Little egrets fishing: do they have any (r)egrets, I wonder? Charms of goldfinches. Herons stalking along hidden ditches, fishing for rudd. Displaying lapwings pee-witting, tumbling and wheeling overhead in the way that reminds me of black and white tea towels flying through the air. Little grebes ducking and diving for their food, their chicks, who swim with them. Moorhens and chicks. Chicks everywhere, in fact. A lone oystercatcher out on the far marsh of the Target pools. Sparrows and starlings, chattering flocks of gossip. Swans (I am afraid of swans) and cygnets, gracefully gliding on calm pools. Reed bunting (initially easy to mistake for a house sparrow) swaying on the top branch of a bush, singing its heart out. Harmonious. Melodious. Heartstopping. A single singing redshank, standing on a post on a single red shanked leg. Bees abuzz. Small blue butterflies dancing in sunlight. Mating white butterflies on the wing. Spotted woodland butterflies spotted in the woodland. Dragonflies looking like biplanes. Blue damselflies, shimmering electric neon, joined in mating hearts.
Heard but not seen: Chiff chaffs chiff-chaffing. The mellow call of the cuckoo, first I’ve ever heard. A song that excites me. A song of summer. In the reeds: Cetti’s warbler; reed warbler. The insane weirdly gibbering laughter of marsh frogs.
Felt: Peace and tranquillity.