A May Day Walk
The Swifts Are Back
I lean against the door and yawn. My partner is helping my 3-year-old into his boots while our baby is already asleep on my chest in her carrier. Gazing at nothing in particular, the movement of two birds in the sky catches my attention. The undeniable scythe-sharp zoom against the cloudless blue. It jolts me from my lethargy.
The swifts are back.
On the lanes we are greeted by spring in full force. Having been on holiday, we had missed the precise unfurling of the hedgerows. But here it is: hazel in full flouncy leaf, blackthorn dense, ash and rowan lush, hawthorn and cow parsley frothing at the edges.
My boy is on his dad’s shoulders before we reach the forest. But once we’re off the tarmac and onto the rocky track, which slithers off into the heart of the woodland, he gets down to run, collect sticks, pick up stones, find snails and beetles and dead leaves that he insists have special importance.
The redstart in the orchard sings from a mid-tree perch and I briefly scan the trackside gorse and bramble for the hidden ball of a long-tailed tit’s nest.
My daughter begins to stir so I walk on a little faster. Behind me I hear my son asking for another snack.
Tomorrow, I think, I will come here with just my sleeping baby. Walk further, spot more wildlife.
I immediately feel guilty.
“Look!” I point out two speckled woods swirling together in a shaft of sunlight. My boy is entranced for a moment before he gets frustrated at not being able to see them still. And then he spies a dor beetle and is reluctant to leave its side.
On the way to the pool in the clearing, we meet the usual boggy patch. My son considers it carefully: over it, through it, under it, or round it? And while I stand back and watch his little jig, I notice the flicker of wing and flash of white up in the oak branches. I get my binoculars on it straight away. I almost punch the air. A pied flycatcher. A rarity in itself but I had never before seen them using this part of the woodland. A positive sign for all of the thinning work that has happened here in the past few winters.
I now spy the duller female too. Both are plucking flies mid-air and returning to perching spots with silent twists and flutters. Through my binoculars I watch this dance-like hunt. Below, I hear my boy make it to the other side of the bog.
He has wet feet.
Thank you for taking us on your walk. I loved reading your observations, they always remind me to look more carefully (and not to rush my children along!). These moments through the seasons are precious xx
Such a nice read, thanks for letting us tag along on your walk. My boy is 16 months old and just entering his picking up stones era - it makes for very slow progress and a lot of noisy resentment when we move him on!