I stare out of the window at my limp bird feeders and am shocked at the scarcity of tweeters, a few arrive, take a sniff then swoop away, their wings drooping with disappointment! I wonder what's wrong I say to Mr H when he walks, fully suited, through the door.
The next morning I step outside to check and discover the peanuts have wrapped themselves together in a blue furry coat to shelter from the rain, the sunflower seeds have melted into sludge. Neglect! I yank on my yellow garden gloves and set to. The Peanut feeder is beyond rescue and I bury it in the bin. I dig out the sunflower slime with a knife and after more washes than I have had this week I soak them in disinfectant as I grieve for the unfed birds. I should have followed the RSPB Advice on Hygiene for bird feeding...
Saturday morning I wake to the sound of tweeting, but as 'rushing' was tipped out of my life long ago, I saunter with a hobble downstairs to check.
Seven goldfinches flitter from branch to feeder as they take turns to peck out their breakfast, two blue tits and a robin patiently wait their turn before hitting the peanuts instead. I squeal Mr H my children are back!
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| Picture from the RSPB In order to see birds it is necessary to become part of the silence Robert Lynd |
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