Pale blues are fading to grey in the sky. Flocks of geese and ducks are using the last minutes of daylight to feed. Twelve more geese fly low over the roof of the hide and land in the fields in front. The honking of the geese and whistling of the teal and wigeon are quieter. Even the nervous, flighty lapwings have settled, tucked up against the cold wind along the edges of the water.
On a fence post is the silhouette of a large female peregrine falcon. Just a few posts along is a smaller, male peregrine. I watch them sit, virtually motionless, for some time. As the female bird turns her head, I can make out a bulge in the outline of her crop, below her throat – she has eaten recently, and is digesting her meal. The male may have been following her, hoping to benefit from her ability to catch larger prey than him. He suddenly flies away across the brooks, and the female falcon follows. Have they paired up for the breeding season ahead?
The sun warms the sky from behind a large strip of cloud – the pools turn a bright rose pink, then gradually fade again. It’s much darker now, and the wind funnels through the open window against my face. It’s time to head for home.
In the middle of a field that rises away from the footpath, I count 67 rooks sitting on the grass. Some peck at the ground with their grey pointed beaks, but most are sitting, waiting. Among them are 25 smaller jackdaws, several still moving around. I struggle to count all the birds, as some huddle so closely together that their black forms merge in the gloom. Six more rooks fly in as I count, and two carrion crows land and hop around the perimeter of the group, attracted by the flock, perhaps expecting to find food. The rooks and jackdaws are gathering together before flying to their roost.
I wait for them to take off to see where they go, but they remain on the ground as the light finally fails completely. In the end, the darkness and cold win this time, and I walk on – making a note to find out on another, warmer evening.
