This morning I’m walking with my dogs at Holywell Bay, a beach bordered by reed beds, sand dunes and a gently flowing stream. The air is warmed by the bright sunshine, but a strong breeze blows the sand off the ground, the grains prickling where they hit exposed skin. At the start of the path down to the beach, a bird in the hedgerow makes a sharp announcement then goes on to chatter jovially, maybe a garden warbler or blackcap. It remains invisible, as does a whitethroat in a scrubby patch bordering the reedbed, which is more easily identified by its repetition of a more understated chorus of high-pitched notes. Then, by the stream, the furiously scratchy song of a sedge warbler cuts into earshot. Unusually, the bird is perched on an exposed branch in full view, whereas typically they are heard more than they are seen, sometimes peeking above thickets of brambles where they hover for a few moments before dropping back down out of sight, yet this one sits still on the branch, its song accompanied by the sound of the stream trickling behind it. Bright yellow irises have bloomed along the water’s edge. Over the dunes, the melodies of skylarks ring out louder than anything else; they seem suspended high up over the ground against the backdrop of the morning’s blue sky, but their wings beat incessantly to keep them soaring so high as their songs ring out above the roaring breeze.
Moments of Nature 