Winter's Tale

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This morning felt like the first proper Winter day so far, sharp and sunny as we headed into Bangor first thing. At the end of the lane we disturbed the pair of collared doves that roost somewhere close by and are often to be seen in the scrubby little oak that sits by the side of the High St. opposite our lane. The garden birds are in full tilt mode at the feeder, the area outside our veranda more like like Heathrow in full swing than a garden, with squadrons of small feathery things taking turn - and sometimes not - to peck at the seeds; all wastage being hoovered up by the rat that lives in the hedges opposite, nothing going to waste.  The hedgehogs are still around, although I guess this drop in temperature will see them in hibernation soon enough. While being most definitely a summer person, I do appreciate this particular time of transition, especially as these days, the Autumn seems to consist mainly of endless rain and gale-force winds: the season of mellow fruitfulness is increasingly mutating into our very own monsoon season due to climate change. This shift into late November/early December always sees us looking forward to the next Spring, and a quiet start to December always serves to shorten the wait, psychologically at least.

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