Walked up the Flood Route and back up along the Olway Valley in the morning, with a heavy dew lying on the fields. The hedges along the lanes have been cut back so there are very few flowers about, and now all the nests and burrows from the summer months have been
revealed including a rather large wasps nest!
The skylark has I think left its summer nesting ground up on the top fields as I haven't heard it for a while now, and the swifts too have disappeared, back on their long flight south. The swallows and martins still fill the air though.
It seems that August is quietly slipping into Autumn, the robin has started singing its'Autumn' song- just as it's one of the first birds to herald Spring, so it does Autumn too.
|Illustration available here|
Ode To Autumn- Keats.( lines from.)
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.