After a slightly frustrating day doing admin, I had an evening out at Otmoor with friends. It was one of those occasions when the different elements of nature conspired to make a perfect performance. On arrival, we were welcomed by a Song Thrush and soon after that a Cuckoo flew across, calling insistently. Two Turtle Doves purred in the hedgerow and Snipe performed their roller-coaster display flights, producing a whirring noise as they descended. In the reeds, Reed Warblers and Sedge Warblers sang their frantic songs, scratching and mimicking other birds. Beyond the hedgerow, we could hear the sharp piping of Redshanks.
The sun started to set and the backdrop changed as the sky turned to a luxuriant pink, braided with trails of dusky grey. As we watched, a large bird with a curved bill flew serenely over the marsh and we realised we were lucky enough to have seen a Glossy Ibis, an infrequent visitor from southern Europe. We turned for home, satisfied and cheerful, but the evening had not finished with us yet. From a nearby hedgerow, a Lesser Whitethroat rattled its song and then, loud and unmistakeable, came the song of a Water Rail. The strange nasal squeaks and trill came only once, followed by a few embarrassed grunts. The curtain closed on our evening performance with the bubbling song of a Curlew, then the hoots of a Tawny Owl, signalling that the day was over.
As I drove home, the new moon hung low, glowing deep orange and looking close enough to touch. The darkness settled comfortably over the blackening trees.
Mudwriter 