The Turn In The Path

If anyone was in doubt that winter was on its way, then a quick look outside on Saturday morning would have confirmed the rumour. A sharp frost and a slowly dissipating fog replaced the dank, dreary weather of the previous few days.

Just the sort of morning to get out for a walk then! There's a certain reckless romance in venturing forth into the raw elements when staid and sensible people linger over their breakfasts in their overheated homes.

A few dogs accompanied their mad Englishmen on this stroll of discovery. At the turkey farm the free-range birds were fussing and grumbling and wishing they were somewhere warmer - in just a few weeks they will be!

There were, of course, no great discoveries along these familiar paths, though suddenly the ivy growing on this old pipe that crosses Guilden Brook is picked out by the frost. In all the times I've passed I'd failed to notice how the vegetation was invading and colonising.

The frost will soon crumble any remaining clods on the freshly tilled fields. The early morning fog is dissolving in the low sunlight into just a few wispy strands of mist.

Don't you just love it when the cobwebs are picked out by the frost. I hope the eight-legged architect of this wonder is tucked up safely among the ivy.

The sudden sunshine has encouraged a disoriented Mistle Thrush to burst into a brief snatch of song. I realise that I've seen all three of our resident thrushes - Song Thrush, Mistle Thrush and Blackbird - this morning.

Here's what's attracting them: a bumper crop of berries on the bushes and hedgerows. A rather chilly breakfast though!

The problem for the Thrush family is that they have a large number of seasonal guests in the form of close relations who descend on them every year. And they don't just come for Christmas; these hungry hordes are already here and won't leave till either the food runs out or the weather gets warmer. I'm talking, of course, about the Fieldfares and Redwings that fly in each year from Scandinavia.

The Song Thrush meekly accepts this intrusion, while the Blackbirds appear to join in the gluttony and grab as much of the berry harvest as they can. The belligerent Mistle Thrush finds the best bush in the area and then defends it against all-comers, including much bigger birds like Wood Pigeons.

Frost lingers long where the winter sun fails to penetrate. There's even a touch of frostiness on my beard where my breath has frozen on to my whiskers. My nose has also taken on a Christmassy hue!

And there's also unexpected colour still on the blackberry hedges. It's hard to imagine that only a couple of months ago I was picking their fruit with the warm sun on my back.

The next turn in the path leads into December and yesterday I received my first Christmas card, from my aunt down in Essex, as it is every year. There's a Christmas tree festival in the parish church this weekend and I saw Noah the donkey being installed in his pen outside the church door to delight the children who visit. In town the Christmas lights have already been on for a week or two.

I still stick to the rule that applied when I worked in the school - No Christmas stuff till December. 


Take care.