I don’t mind the rain.
I quite like it, in fact.
What I don’t like is drizzle. Either rain or don’t rain, but don’t drizzle.
So when I got up this morning I saw it was raining, and I thought I wouldn’t let it stop me and I would go out on the North Downs for a walk.
However, up on the Downs I soon found myself in the clouds and the rain had turned into...drizzle.
It was a windy day but the cloud was low and not blowing away. It looked like a misty day but it wasn’t, it was just banks of drizzle and squally showers being repeatedly blown in by the wind.
I finally took shelter at the bottom on the Downs and got a brew on the go.
Everything was silent and then I heard a burst of song from the bushes.
A solitary robin.
The robin’s song is a loud and syllabic one and always sounds full of thought and consideration. At this time of year there are few bird songs - the robin and the wren, a thrush perhaps. I peered around my tarp and saw the little fella, it’s breast the same colour as the hips and haws, head back and beak wide open as it sang.
The robin’s song is a warning to other robins to go away and leave it along. It was just the two of us, both alone and both together. There was something humbling and moving about listening to a lone birdsong cut into the silence. The sound of Spring and life starting on a day that exemplified the end of the year. Determined not to let go even though the days are getting shorter, the leaves are falling, and the weather is getting harsher.
No surrender.
On a grey and drizzly day there was that splash of colour, enough to delight and to make the day out worth it.
I quite like it, in fact.
What I don’t like is drizzle. Either rain or don’t rain, but don’t drizzle.
So when I got up this morning I saw it was raining, and I thought I wouldn’t let it stop me and I would go out on the North Downs for a walk.
However, up on the Downs I soon found myself in the clouds and the rain had turned into...drizzle.
It was a windy day but the cloud was low and not blowing away. It looked like a misty day but it wasn’t, it was just banks of drizzle and squally showers being repeatedly blown in by the wind.
I finally took shelter at the bottom on the Downs and got a brew on the go.
Everything was silent and then I heard a burst of song from the bushes.
A solitary robin.
The robin’s song is a loud and syllabic one and always sounds full of thought and consideration. At this time of year there are few bird songs - the robin and the wren, a thrush perhaps. I peered around my tarp and saw the little fella, it’s breast the same colour as the hips and haws, head back and beak wide open as it sang.
The robin’s song is a warning to other robins to go away and leave it along. It was just the two of us, both alone and both together. There was something humbling and moving about listening to a lone birdsong cut into the silence. The sound of Spring and life starting on a day that exemplified the end of the year. Determined not to let go even though the days are getting shorter, the leaves are falling, and the weather is getting harsher.
No surrender.
On a grey and drizzly day there was that splash of colour, enough to delight and to make the day out worth it.
