Another unexpected bird.

Unexpected? Always unexpected: a flash of blue along the river by the Glebe and you only realise when he’s gone – that was the kingfisher!

That was yesterday; twenty years ago I was walking George home from school when we stopped to watch the fish in the shallows of the river. The kingfisher dived right at his feet, a metre and a half down to the water and emerged, fish in beak, before realising he had an audience, and made himself scarce.

George instantly became a bird watcher.

Less unexpected birds in the city.

The garden spectacle this week has been the two fledgling sparrows that have left the nest in next-door-but-one’s roof to flit and flutter to our back gate where they can perch, and cheep and flutter their stubby wings in the hope that their parents – or any passing sparrow for that matter – will feed them. There must be hope they will live, now they have spent two days out of the nest!

Here is one of them watching intently as his mother (or is it his aunt?) pecks at the fat balls over the gate. The fact that he was fed did not prevent him starting to call again as soon as he’d finished swallowing.

Although the adults are very tolerant of humans moving about the garden we share with  them, Chico took off as soon as the back door opened. Three metres’ flight to the washing line, where he could not get a grip, turned base over apex before achieving enough co-ordination to crash into the holly bush.

The two chicks were soon back on the gate, ‘Please Sir (or Madam) I want some more!

On the move.

I was waiting at the seaside bus stop when a handsome young lad arrived, a smile on his face. He was dancing on the spot, though his headphones were off his ears and indeed switched off. He looked crazily happy, but not crazy!

One of his mates got on a couple of stops later, and so we heard just why the firstcomer was so happy. He’d just got accepted at university. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here, man, and get to university. This place is dead, there’s nothing to do.’

I got off at our local university, to walk home in the Spring sunshine across the green of the campus. Two students alighted in front of me; quite a few prefer to live in the peaceful resort rather than the city.

No doubt there will be young people coming to Canterbury from the town where my fellow-traveller is going, glad to get away from somewhere that has grown too small for them. Many come from London, glad to get off  their patch and out from under their parents’ eye.

I trust and pray the fire that made the seasider dance will burn within him all the days of his life.

Unexpected birds in the midst of the city: II

It began with a low flypast by a Spitfire and a Hurricane, fighter planes from World War II; after that our eyes turned again and again to the deep blue sky. Then Vincent spotted a buzzard, not unknown in Canterbury – see 3 September 2015, Bravado of the Birds.

Not unknown, but worth downing tools for. Who was going to see him off, I wondered, recalling ravens, jackdaws and gulls escorting these predators away from their children – though sadly ravens are not seen over Canterbury today. But no jackdaw nor gull appeared, instead there was another buzzard soaring over us, and then two more. None of us earth-bound humans had seen four together over Canterbury before.

Too early in the year for this season’s chicks to be on the wing, surely? Were these four juveniles or two parents with last year’s offspring? Certainly two bore pale flashes on their underwings, and one of these was audibly and physically corrected when it flew too close to one of the others. We heard it over the roar of traffic from the inner bypass.

From up there the birds could see a long stretch of green: our little acre is on the river and just across the main road that runs behind us lie the Westgate Parks which lead to the meadows, and the cycle path to Ashford which we earthlings visited yesterday.

Along the river path again

 

This bridge carries the railway over the River Stour and the cycle path from Canterbury to Ashford. It also serves as a picture frame.

When I turned around the other day, I could hardly help contrasting the view with what I had seen in December.

The difference is Spring! And the time of day is earlier, so that the tree, in stark winter shadow in the first picture, is now radiant in gold-green leaf. Spring!

Shining Spurge

Abel’s legs are getting longer and stronger, so that he can soon get out of sight in Larkey Valley Woods. (These were given to the people of Canterbury by a former Mayor, Frank Hooker.) 

Abel’s gone while I was telling you that! At least he has got the idea of following the waymark arrows but – the red and blue diverge ahead and we forgot to put his hi-vis jacket on. But he’s hiding somewhere …

Where’s my Grannie?

Well, you see why I only got one photo on this walk.

Spring is as active as Abel, and the green flowers of the spurge stood out against the dark leaves and shadow behind them. I once had a teacher who said there were no green flowers – she’d probably call them yellow, just to avoid being proven wrong!

Their moment

On a bright morning after torrential rain, I walked home along the city wall. The sun lit up the golden maple on the ramparts. That is the bandstand on the lawn below.

The red maple is at the junction of Black Griffin Lane and Saint Peter’s Street.

Both trees are having their moment in the sun, while their leaves are still expanding and allowing as much light through as they reflect.