The biting cold seems to radiate upwards from the snow-covered ground. An inch or two of white has altered the green-brown of yesterday. House sparrows queue for the feeder, perching on the tops of the spikes and thorns that make up the hedge along the bottom of the garden. As they wait they take advantage of the weak early morning sun, providing little but precious warmth.
Throughout the day, in small groups and singly, dunnocks, goldfinches, blue tits, blackbirds, a robin, wood pigeons and magpies visit, taking from feeders and sifting through the snow to find grains of seed. At one point a mass of 40 starlings congregates on the ground, in the trees and at the feeders.
Towards the end of day, with fading light a soft chattering in a hawthorn two doors away. Silhouetted against the clear darkening blue-yellow sky the mass of black branches host a flock of small birds, three quarter size ping-pong balls with long tail feathers. They flit, hesitantly, ebb and flow gradually reaching our feeder. Until at one point there are eight long tailed tits arranged on the fatball cage, tails sticking out at all angles, like carelessly placed Christmas tree decorations, some upside down. In the half-light their soft colours and markings are still visible. Bright white stripe above the tiny beak, concentrated faces finding a final evening feed.
Standing in the garden I edge away slowly, slip on the snow breaking my fall with my left hand and a wrist bend, of the sort that lets you know it will hurt later. The birds take no notice and continue their meal, before moving on once more along the hedge row, little by little until all (too flighty to count 10, 12 maybe?) are gone.
Sheep that have never looked so glad of their coats continue to graze, heads down, pulling at blades of grass showing through the snow. Feeding the pre-occupation of everything that lives outside, more so in this freezing weather.
As I go to bed at 11 next door’s security light illuminates a patch of the pasture field that lies beyond the gardens, through the window I see a movement, snatch up the binoculars just in time to see a fox move off, head down, intent, searching for something to eat.
