Wednesday, 1 June 2011

Moving on

 In The Tree Year, we are moving on.  The tree has bloomed and petals fallen.  Whether there will be fruit, who knows?  This is a baby tree.

And trying to take a pic of this delightful tree, it needs the sunshine... but then it's overexposed, and who can see the luminous quality of ruby leaves, unless you are sitting beneath it.

Although it is too small to provide shade, it sways gracefully in the breeze, and birds flit onto the bird feeder.  Bees buzz off, hover flies stay, cats prowl around, and crows raucously proclaim their presence.
 Or perhaps it is a rook; it is certainly noisy, and has decided that this garden is Mayfair on the housing estate.  To the consternation of wood pigeons and collared doves; and the fantastic jay, the crow is determined to stay - not with the riff-raff across the road.

Something striking about colour and symmetry, or a little nostalgia for old England, this postbox caught my eye.  The market is new, more upmarket (!) than the old lean-to, tumble-down market, but just as vibrant.

And if all you want is new, the glass wood pigeon across the road is delightful.  With comfy sofas and good quality - there's even an extensive library, and the BBC.  What more does a modern city need... well, it's got at least one of those, too.

Seasons change, and nothing was more delightful nor more scary, than seeing the delightful blackbird determinedly building a nest - on the bird table.

Talk about luxury apartment - I guess these were new - almost parents -and although there were no signs of the eggs, no amount of wandering around the house, or scaring them silly every time we went onto the patio, could distract this determined pair.

I can comfirm that both parents were busily building the nest, all day, finding moss.  Who thought there was so much moss on the lawn?  Lovely nest.

Shame about the location - how could they defend it from the squirrel, the wood pigeon, the crow and numerous cats, in such an open and visible place?

They couldn't.  No sign of an egg, but mother did incubate for a full day; father dropping in and sending out alarm calls.

And then, nothing; no mouths to feed, no fledglings, just... a huge fur coat filling a very comfy moss-lined seat on the bird table!  The cat decided this was a favourite location for bird-spotting.

And the blackbirds?  Off to the trees, the roof, singing happily and moving on, moving on.


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