Change in the air

There is noise coming from somewhere.  It is being shifted, buffeted, spread by the wind so it seems to come from all directions.  Not quite music, not quite speech, more a low level vibration noticeable because it’s not normally there. It must be the travelling funfair, the dull thudding music and the excited voices announcing its presence.

The noise cuts through the otherwise peaceful mood down the park. It’s dusk, the last hour before sunset. No golden or blue light tonight, the clouds are too low, the light already drawing in.  The cool breeze and failing light is driving the dog walkers towards home.  So there’s just me walking along the lake.

Just me and the birds that is.  I try to steer clear of the wigeon, but accidentally breech their wide startle radius.  They were grazing happily on the grass, more like geese than ducks really.  But now they are waddling back towards the water, their round forms bobbing side to side.  The flash of gold on the males’ heads just visible in the failing light.  Winter visitors.  Not sure how much longer they’ll be with us.  I associate migrating birds with being fleet of wing.  I can’t picture the rotund wigeon making its long flight back to the tundra, but yet they must do every year to breed.  I find it fascinating that every winter, like clockwork, they return to my local park.  I wonder what wigeon chicks look like.  They must be lovely and round and sociable, like their parents.

The resident swan pair are aloof out in the middle of the water.  Last year’s cygnets were encouraged to leave about a month ago.  The parents would usually be preparing for a new brood by now.  But there’s no sign so far of nest building to repair what was washed away by the flooding over winter.  The pair have raised two broods together.  I still remember the excitement in the air when the bachelor male first laid eyes on the female.  Within minutes he was proudly showing her his “pad”, including his enviable secure nesting island.  He must be disappointed by its current condition after all the rain.

I talk as if I’m totally up with park affairs.  But to be fair, it’s my first visit down the park in over a week.  The daily visits started in monotony of lockdown have started to lapse.  Maybe it’s the return to the office, an earlier work day start than the short commute to work from home.  Maybe it’s the short winter days, harder to fit in a visit between sunrise and work. But really it’s choices, distracting choices, doom-scroll choices, me choosing to put energy elsewhere.

I breathe in the fresh air and I pick out the bird calls from underneath the other noise.  The loud chatter of the rookery opposite, always sociable and busy, already taking steps for spring.  The song thrushes and robins, having their battle of the bands from high atop the trees.  The water splashing as the coots chase each other in defence of their patch of water.  The quack and wing flapping of the ducks, as they reposition.  The Canada geese starting their evening debate about whether it’s time to leave, or whether they can hang on for another few minutes.  At least until it’s too dark for the photography lady to film their departure.

Heading home the houses are lit up like lanterns. The funfair volume is increasing but still swirling about on the wind.   Subtle changes in the neighbourhood.  New owners moved into the recently sold house.  Another front lawn laid out to gravel for ease of parking.  New bird feeders out in front of a house further down, an enticing morning buffet for the birds.  New colours of daffodils and crocuses in the flower beds.  Feeling of change in the air.

ICM of the lake, almost looking like a hilly landscape.

ICM of the rookery, overlooking the lake.