Sunday, 8 May 2011

Little we see of nature that is ours

Little we see of nature that is ours, and yet so much of nature is wrapped up in nurturing of human beings.

There, at Wells-next-the-sea, it is easy to see the misnomer.  For the marshes carry on for miles, and where is the sea?  It is shored up with the seals off Blakeney Point.

Everything is change in this part of the world, the coast nowadays is not the coastline then.

Yet, there are sights enough: of earth and sky, a quayside only navigable at high tide.  Boys crabbing?  Tourists nibble cockles and mussels? Crabs?

And yet, this landscape is lovingly nurtured and maintained.  To watch birds wheeling in and out for the season,  the spread of sky and mile on mile of undeveloped mud.  It must be a twitcher's delight.

As are the narcissi in this glorious garden.  Do we miss springtime as we move into summer days?  Who knows.  Will it be a drought or a flood?

We nurture what we want to keep: in the garden, the countryside, the city.  Sometimes, it seems less planned, a higgledy piggledy of what's been forgotten.  What we haven't got round to destroying or ring-fencing.
 And now, in The Tree Year, the buds have burst into bloom and faded.  The copper leaves of the plum tree have matured, and in the sunlight, they dance and glow like stained glass (see last posting).

I have found the time of day to observe wildlife - at least for now.  First, a blackbird descends on the bird feeder.  Notices me looking, but feeds anyway, before darting away, perching on an archway.

A warning call, and mother blackbird warns her young, then flits to another garden - no humans, and probably little food either.

Juvenile, a male, lands on the archway, missing its breakfast completely.  And like a dutifully nurtured son, flits off with a sideways glance.

Then the cat arrives, drinks water from the bird bath.  And there, behind his back, a blackbird feeds, from the feeder on the plum tree.  Finishes its meal and flits away.  A wood pigeon lands, cumbersome, on the fence.  And then the cat notices, looks round at a feast, as the pigeon looks indecisive.  Nervous.

There is nature and there is nurture.  An ordinary day, in a garden, with a plum tree.

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