I’ve been less busy that usual, and that means time to have breakfast outside in the sunshine, listening to the birds. The other morning was particularly nice, the light was glorious, the birds were going at it. I sipped my tea, sat on the edge of one of the veg birds, and let it wash over my ears.
There’s a robin who’s a regular. He likes to watch Kate while she’s working in the garden. He flits around on different perches, and occasionally chirps his opinions about what she’s doing.
Then in the last couple of weeks, we’ve seen a blackbird whizzing in and out of our front hedge, sometimes with a beakfull of fluff or twigs. So we think she’s building a nest in there.
I gave the Small Cat a stern look when I realised this. “Don’t go hunting baby blackbirds in there,” I warned. She ignored me.
The blackbird continues nestbuilding: oblivious, determined, unstoppable. She doesn’t even get to have a tea break.