It is early morning and I haven’t got around to putting out the seed yet but I glance out the window and there is a single bird standing motionless on the grass. It’s a greenfinch and once again I’m intrigued, almost dazzled, by its plumage. Set against the green of the grass it is so much richer than a grass green – this is more nuanced, shading down from the crown of its head without any perceptive break and has rich yellow tones to it, almost glowing in the morning sun. The closest thing I can see like it is a pre-Raphaelite gold gown flowing down into an uncut meadow.
The starlings have been attacking the fat feeders with relish. Their feathers in sunlight have a wonderful mix of green and purple glinting through them, whilst there is now a second song thrush flaunting its buff and chestnut speckled breast. A flash of blood-red and the woodpecker is hanging horizontally on the wire peanut cone, whilst a surprisingly chunky wren has a smartly barred wing. A friend in America has told me about the birds in her garden, jays and cardinals and glorious flights of exotic butterflies. Their colours will be brilliant indeed, but I think that the birds in Mother’s garden blend in with the foliage and the light in the Scottish Borders. Aren’t we lucky…even now…to have such a refuge.
thekitchensinkbirdwatcher 