A watery winter sun warmed the westward woods
but no birdsong burst from the bare branched birches.
Hawthorn hedges were hidden in the haze,
yet a feathered fiend had fixed his gaze.
Stiff, silent trees were standing stark;
wide eyes were watching, waiting.
Suddenly from his nest,
over frosty fields,
came the barn owl
and still no sound
he dived to the ground,
then soared high again,
caught in his claws his catch.
Heading back from whence he came,
silently sweeping through the sky,
flew with his famished family’s feast.
Yet still no whisper from the waiting woods,
the sun sank sadly ‘neath the skies in the west.
Silence, save for sounds of scrunching from the owl ‘s nest.
Inspired by photographing my friend’s watercolour painting from a picture in the RSPB magazine
A family of long-tailed tits have come to visit me,
they’ve been here all day in and out the Eucalyptus tree.
They’re eating all the old nuts and fat balls that I’ve put out
I’ve not seen them here before, so I guess without a doubt
they like what I’ve provided more than the usual seeds
that all the birds sort through and drop down to grow into weeds!
I awoke to an intense brightness piercing through a chink in my curtains. I sensed the promise of a brilliant view, and as I opened the curtains to the cool white vista outside, a wondrous winter scene lay before me.
Everything sparkled. Jack Frost had visited overnight and painted my entire world white. Only the strangely tinged winding roadway provided tinted relief to the blanket of brilliant white. The haze in the distance merged into the milky sky, making the whole scene appear as if it never ended, and it all belonged to me for that moment. Oh how I wished I could paint!