Berries of all sorts seem to have been prolific this autumn. In the garden the cotoneaster bushes were thick with bright scarlet berries and the hollies are laden, but the hungry birds, particularly the black birds have been very busy stripping the branches.
Up in the fields towards the hill and in the hedgerows on its margins sizeable flocks of “fieldfare”, newly arrived from Northern Europe, are noisily feasting on the hawthorn which abounds there. As I walk the path at the edge of “the common” the fieldfares scatter in front of me; flitting from one old gnarled hawthorn to another calling frantically.
Even the woodpecker, driven by hunger, comes the feeder on the kitchen window to eat along with the tits. I can be washing up at the sink feet away and he takes no notice at all, seemingly oblivious, concentrating on devouring the fat-ball.
Actually , must pop out and top up the feeders . . . .