Lockdown Diaries: Day 62 - On Stillness

To be in a place and be slow, be hidden, provides us with moments of magic that are hard to come by otherwise. 

Sitting in the small woodland, I became aware of movement around me. Without moving, standing or changing my awareness, I waited and watched. Again, a bird flew past, swooping and bending through the trees with a perfect ability. Short, broad wings lend themselves to quick manoeuvres through the trees, and this bird was an expert. Reminding me of slow motion videos of goshawks, this male, hunting, was a gift for my stillness. 

His mate chattered to him from their nest, requesting food, for her job was to keep the eggs warm. He obeyed, returning back and forward and leaving as subtly as he returned. Her voice showed I was unnoticed, and he didn't even blink as he flew past me close enough to touch. 

It was an accident: last time I'd been here they had not, so their nesting attempt was new, and for that all the more special. It wasn't a conscious decision to seek them out, and I wasn't close to the nest although I could guess the rough location from her voice and his flight patterns. 

​The willow warblers continued to intermittently sing, the robin did too. The wren remained silent and didn't feel the need to warn anyone of human-danger. For once I felt like a part of the habitat as intended. To be invisible is a wonderful thing, and I relished my invisibility. How long could I be there without causing alarm? How long could I watch? Maybe the fact that my attention wasn't solely focused on the hunting male helped - we all know the feeling of eyes on our backs - but really I can only guess. Maybe the colours I was wearing that day helped me blend in, maybe, somehow, I've changed my movements and become more animal, but that I doubt. I am still too human.  

While the ferns are unfurling, and the warblers are singing, a hunter glides through the woodland. The clandestine presence is hinted at by bundles of feathers from preyed upon birds located around favourite perches and stumps of trees. While photosynthesis builds a world for us all, and while the woodlice work to rot down last year's residue, new life begins. The eggs nestled under her brood patch, the solid structure of the nest holding them all together. The communication, the steely-eyed determination will determine success or failure, but I won't be watching. I will leave them in peace, and dream instead of the silent ghost flitting through the trees, having left me with sweet memory, and a hushed thankfulness to the world. 

You may notice that I have not mentioned which species I was watching. It is an exercise in appreciation without diminishing to just the name. Can anyone guess? Does anyone feel the need?