Sunday 10 January
I am pleased when the weekend comes and there is enough time to do nothing at all. The clock matters, but in a very different way on Saturday and Sunday.
The activities of both days are plotted around key events. Saturday; football at 3pm, this weekend my car needed an MOT and service. Sunday; referee duties, visiting Dad. Then there are the domestic needs, ferrying kids to and from places, food shopping etc. But this past year has upset that a little. And now, particularly during the winter weekends of reduced daylight, the main feature for both days is the dog-walk.
So today, Adora persuaded me to go on a run with her in the frozen morning along the local lanes. Half way round we chatted about the crows gathering in the fields and on the telegraph wires overhead. I commented how I never notice them except in the Autumn and Winter, probably because they gather together rather than lead their own lives during the other seasons. She agreed, to please me. Then, I got a little excited when a kestrel launched itself from a branch above us as we jogged, twisting and turning with wings and tail movements that contorted this way and that. Negotiating it’s way through the trees and out in to the clutter free space above the frozen fields. It was all in the blinking of an eye but I am souch better at absorbing what I see, and understanding the characteristics of each bird. That joyous moment made me jog a little quicker, and our synchronised steps faltered as I slowed down to get back in check with my running mate.
Then, at midday I was checking in with Dad, before collecting Stan who had met up with his girlfriend to go on a walk they had planned around Boxted. All of this had to be completed with precision to allow enough time to complete a walk with Mabel. We started in mid afternoon with a blanket of cloud above us, and returned home with late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the flat fields of scrub and stubble.
Each walk tags on another slight detour or extension. I have certainly discovered more about what is on my doorstep in this past year than in any of the previous nineteen put together. The network of footpaths have allowed us to venture just that little bit further each time.
Whilst walking the perimeter of one of the many fields, I noticed patches of shattered ice pooling under each tree. Like the seeds or leaves that end up on the ground around each trunk, so when the ice thaws it falls too.
Dad was good today. We agreed that Mum was protected from any anxiety over her positive test for Coronavirus by her dementia. As weird as that sounds. She has no concept of the virus or what it can do to people, or the worrying situation in the country right now. And the fact that she isn’t worrying is comforting for us. Strange.
The Bald Birder 