Saturday 23 January
07:45 Every so often, when time allows, I take a trip back through this blog to a randomly selected day. I place my thumb on the screen, on top of the past three-hundred or so days, and swiftly swish through the list. The list blurs like a roulette wheel. Occasionally one swish is enough but more often than not, I will swish a couple more times. Whichever day is nearest the top gets picked. I read it and reminded myself about just how amazing this past year has already proved to be.
This morning, I didn’t stray so far, choosing only to review the past week. It has had some of the hardest times I can recall having to emotionally handle. But here we are, still standing, still sane.
And this morning, like a few others over the past week, the birdsong is back. Yesterday, when I returned from my bonus late-afternoon walk with Lisa and Mabel, I set about refilling the bird feeders. Already, these faithfull visitors to the garden have returned. It has been weeks, months even, since I put food out for them. The feeders have been weather beaten, empty and without purpose, just swinging in the winds and being battered by rain, snow, hail and frosts. But now they are full, and are filling the bellies of robins, tits, sparrows and blackbirds. I am going to spend some quality time, at the top and tail of the day, just sitting and watching them do their thing.
What can be a more simple pleasure, than pooring some seed and nuts into a tube, and waiting for these beautiful creatures to take advantage. My only regret is that I had neglected my duties for so long. They need this food now more than ever.
09:00 I subscribe to Nick Cave’s Red Hand Files email. Basically, people can send a question or comment to NC and he will publicly reply. This week he was sent the simple statement “This world is shitty”. To which he replied;
“The Bible opens with the story of the creation —
‘In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.’
The story tells us that God thought His creation to be ‘very good’. I have to say, I very much agree — the world is not only very good, it is perfect — so wholly perfect that it has the capacity to hold within it profoundly imperfect things. It is a masterpiece folded around an essential and energising flaw — our humanity.”
Amen to that, Mr Cave. I am not religous, well not in the popular sense of the word. But I do have faith, mostly in nature and the world we live in. As a species, we can do amazing things on this even more amazing planet, but we have tended to fuck it all up in the past hundred or so years. Still, after reading this, my internal spirit level has been raised just that little bit higher.
14:20 And so, I have come to a (re) awareness that I need to bring myself back to a clear sense of what got me through the first lockdown and every day since. I am happiest when I observe a fleeting flash of a bird overhead or in the corner of my eye. What was it, why was it there, where was it going?
Or when the sky paints the most vivid and then the most subtle of pictures, time after time. Or when I hear that fox or owl in the dark, or the cackle of a magpie that I can’t see. Or the cocophony of crows or fieldfare over the orchard or in tree canopies. And spring is coming.
It’s about having an awareness and love for the natural things in front of me and the space in between them.
17:05 It’s been a day of bringing myself back down to earth. Taking time to properly appreciate the simple pleasures. Saturday mornings are notoriously good for that, I find.
Our walk, all five of us, enjoying a couple of hours of open air, wide open spaces. A slow, deep cup of coffee in bed with Lisa. No need to be anywhere soon. Football on the telly this afternoon whilst watching the mass of birds feasting on the seeds and nuts outside. Queuing up for their turn at the buffet. I will need to replenish it all before the snow arrives from the west later.
I will also take some time later to light the wood burner in the front room, sit and get some healthy head space. Read a little. A glass of red. Simple pleasures, yet again.
The Bald Birder 