As I climbed the steps to this new bird-hide, I felt the smoothness of the rail beneath my hand.
Then, pushing open the door, I breathed in the smell of newly cut timber.
Two forward facing windows looked over the expanse of lake, with the stillness of pine trees stretching into the distance, and gently swaying reeds in the foreground.
A third window, at the side , looks back the way I came; to the thin strip of fine sand that separates the salt water of the sea from the fresh water of the lake.
The fourth window reveals old woodland, rising to the cliff top, still resisting the pull of the sea, yet knowing that one day it will fall to the beach below. ………..
To join the many that have fallen before…
But today all is still. In the quietness of the hide, information boards show pictures of birds seen here and a full blackboard lists recent sightings, added in chalk by visitors who remain anonymous and probably never met, yet added their contribution to this record for others to see.
Today the birds were too far away for me to identify, yet I still felt I had shared a moment of their life. I am not a bird-watcher really, and could only name those most common to the area so I will add nothing to the board, but I am a writer, so it’s likely that those who shared that moment today will live on in a poem not yet written.
i recognised some of those birds. I couldn’t describe them for you though. I can just about tell a pigeon from a sparrow, and I know the cherry yellowy birds on our bird table aren’t either. Perhaps I should get a book…
About the same here. I spent years believing that all the birds at the seaside were seagulls. Now learning to look a little closer
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