The first snows of the winter have been followed by overnights of -10C, and the trees and grasses are filigreed with a thick coating of frost. A flock of chaffinches are cooried up in a nearby birch, and I check for bramblings, a bird I’m always delighted to see. Our feeders are busy with coal, blue and great tits, goldfinches, woodpeckers and a solitary crested tit too, the latter another sure sign of winter, though I wonder where the siskins are.
In the past few days there has been a flock of finches a hundred or more strong, coming and going, landing on the topmost branches of the birches and pines at the far side of the field, and I can’t tell if their restlessness is part of their modus operandi or because of our local marauding sparrowhawk.
