On the bank, that fringes the woods, squabbling great tits and squirrels fight over the nest boxes while the blackbirds bathe and splash in the muddy and almost frozen puddle. The squirrels are there for the hell of it. The nest boxes are too small for them to live in, but they get in the way and generally make a nuisance of themselves. That’s the view from my office window. Well when I say office, it’s the place where for two days a week I work. It is known as the Monkey house, which I believe is an historical reference to previous occupants in the Victorian era and not because of my presence there.
Despite the weather, of perhaps because of it, the fringes of the woods seem to be bursting with activity and endeavour. Even in the rain, and latterly the snow, flocks of great tits that have been co-operating together in previous weeks are now claiming and counter claiming their stakes to the limited number of nest boxes.
Whilst the tits squabbled over the boxes and the blackbirds and the green finches bathed in the puddles and the squirrels generally interfered with everyone, a couple of wood pigeons sit forlornly in the branches, watching enviously, the fun below.
And then silence. The frantic activity dies down. Even the squirrels slip back into the woods. Flakes of brittle, fragile white are drifting down slowly from the leaden sky.
Time to do some work.