In Search of Buzzards and Myself

Ch1 pg1
28/11/12

The November sun hangs in the distance. It is a favourite of mine, peering over the horizon like a nosey neighbour. The sun itself always seemed watery as if it is teary from seeing summer fade away to absolute nothing.
Today the blue sky held dusty white clouds in its palm. Floods have affected Britain this week, creating puddles and gushing rivers, filling bowls and dips in roads.
I stand by the fence and scan the field. They were never too far away at this time of year. I only have to wait minutes before one came into view. My binoculars are old, passed down to me by my granddad. They were at least twenty years and weigh a ton, Halina Discovery 20x50. It is the last thing he gave me.
On the bumpy soiled earth a movement catches my attention. Camouflaged well with the fuscous brown feathers. Is soil black or really dark brown? From a distance a Buzzard blends into this l landscape with ease. Luckily for some of its prey hibernation is now the only worry to get through, the terror of starving to death must be a big concern for any field mouse, squirrel or vole.
The buzzard is big, a female, and white feathers chequered her chest. She has baggy trouser legs and stands at ease in the field. Occasionally her head turned as slowly as a turtles. I wonder if she has seen me come to the hedge knowing I am too far to cause a threat. Pecking at the soil she jumps back as if she had touched something hot. Then her wings unfold and she veers away into the trees.
Stones protrude through the track like fins on a pod of dolphins. We haven’t lived here long, just three months. The estate is over three thousand acres and has an array of trees and farm fields. It is perfect for me.
I have only been bird watching a couple of times with my granddad. When you’re young you don’t realise the beauty of grandparents, though some do, and I regret not showing more interest when I was in my school years. But thankfully when I left school he became a big fixture in my life. Showing me a way of living that defined him as a person and his character.
I came to a halt as a white sign hit me square on the jaw, SHOOTING IN PROGRESS.
I’m not totally sure of the rules of the estate and turned back for home. The last thing I want is to disturb a pheasant shoot.

DECEMBER
2/12/12
Today I’m taking the dog for a wander. The world is vacant of life, skeleton trees show me how big the estate actually is. I don’t think you can actually sense the seasons until you walk through woods and fields.
To see a tree bare of leaves is a shock, to see a whole wood is chilling. You feel as naked as them, the harshness of life hits you right there in the face. I actually want to hug each one, let them know they will survive winter.
The quietness of the estate is also something that woke me up. In society noise is an ever present, something that accompanies our every move, our every moment. Around here it is vacuumed out. Apart from the bypass that goes through the middle of the estate it was pure tranquillity. I hate the bypass, it is a cancer on the landscape and there is no way of ever curing it.
Pheasants run amok before hurling their bodies into the air as I came up the track. You could tell the season is under way; their numbers have started to decrease from just a couple of weeks ago.
That nervous cough spring through the airwaves as they flung their not so nimble bodies up, up, and then down again. From what I’ve read buzzards will eat Pheasants so it will be interesting to see how the gamekeeper goes about his livelihood.
I check the fields and see a total of eight buzzards, five in one field three in the other. The white chest on one reminds me of Santa Clauses beard. They all seem quite at ease with each other before they notice me behind the hedge. Then as quickly as dominoes falling they all fly off.
A huge puddle, which seems to grow with every droplet of rain, creates a gathering of birds. Crows, seagulls, herons and buzzards all linger by. Ready to dip in and have a drink. It’s amazing how many bird feeders there are around gardens, but how many are drinking stations? People underestimate how importantly wildlife needs water. Our body systems may differ, but function in the same manner, breath, sleep, grow with age, thirst and hunger are still requirements of any species.
The traffic on the bypass zooms by; headlights shine like torches on miner’s helmets.

5/12/12
Clouds hang in clumps, gathered together like sprayed foam. In the corner forty to fifty seagulls sit by the big puddle. I wander if it is some sort of winter conference.
I make my way past the skinning yard the hay bales sit tight in the barn. Then I noticed one in the middle, its netting torn from some thief. Clumps of straw hang out like fluff from a torn teddy bear.
Pheasants run around again like children on a schoolyard. I see an oak with flaking bark; rot has started to set in. I ponder how long it had left, before nature or the tree surgeon came along and take it down.
Gulls came in from the landfill site on the other side of the river. They circled against the oil-glazed yolk of a December’s sun. Small shoots of grass have started to appear on the fields, like stubble on a shaven headed man.
I see a buzzard in a field and the instant I stop he wheels away. They don’t seem to take chances and fly off immediately. How they hate the human form. It’s only now that I start to realise how much anger they have for us.
You could say it’s fear but I don’t think so. This is God’s garden and we’re responsible for what goes on inside it. When we say they’re wild animals I consider they’re wild against us.
We’re wild against each other especially when it comes to territories. Football hooliganism, gangs and racism are territory based. What we have in our society is only the same in nature. But they abhor our presence to the point where I’m ashamed to be human.
I venture into the trees and watch an oak leaf fall to the ground, see-sawing on a thermal. Before it takes on that crispy brown look of autumns asking.
I scan the field in front of me and see the hunched look of a buzzard. Moving my binoculars I begin to see more, until I count seven, all within twelve feet of each other. They stand like bouncers on doorways.
One of them has a brown stomach and white chest. It reminds me of the Everton 1986 football top. My dad used to take me across to Liverpool when I was a child and also when he could afford to. Most probably the last decade of football in Britain that wasn’t controlled by money.
Two buzzards fly over with the distinct kee-ow kee-ow echoing over the fields. None of the standing buzzards move, I check out the clump of trees on the other side of the field. If I can get into there I would be in a good position.
Round Wood is on the edge near the bypass. A tunnel leads to the other side of the estate so the bypass carries on over the top. I pass through a gate entrance and saw two wagtails hop and caper about on some mounds. As I get closer you can smell what seemed to be a sulphurous odour. It looked like well-rotted manure of some sort.
I see a wire fence circling the wood and think best to leave it for now. We haven’t lived here long and the last thing I need is to upset the gamekeeper.
A cold temperature had now descended onto the estate. I can feel my thighs getting tighter from the frost like a presence around me. I made the decision to head off home.
On passing a field I spot what appears like a white rock in the centre. Double-checking through my binoculars I see the largest buzzard yet. And she was nearly all white, her chest a barrel and shoulders wrestler like. She looked like a piece of marble left behind by some mountain erosion many years ago.
I watch her for a while. This is her territory, her field. Pectorals thick as oven raised loaves. I get the feeling I’m in the way so toddle off home.

6/12/12
The temperature has dropped today, and a slight drizzle is slightly peppering the land. Darkness looms on the sidelines, waiting for the nod to jump out and end another day. It was only 3pm.
How we miss the sun when it’s not here; pining for the moment spring comes through and the hope of longer days. I find it more revealing of the human psyche that we miss what we’ve experienced i.e. the sun, but when animals and insects go extinct most people don’t seem to know notice whether it’s a snow Leopard or Golden Eagle we just carry on, usually after a tut and a frown.
I spot a buzzard on the field and he instantly rises to leafless trees, naked in their standing. A murder of crows puff out the trees then just as calmly fall back in like ashes wafting out of a fire.
I head for the field of seven buzzards from yesterday and stop in my tracks. A flock of maybe thirty to forty birds swirl and glide, then dip and oscillate. Lapwings are here. Their black wings and white bodies adding zest to the fuscous brown land.
Icy puddles break like crisps in a sandwich as I meander along the track. Six buzzards sit in almost the same positions as yesterday. Maybe they’re cardboard cut-outs to frighten the seed picking Corvus?

7/12/12
The rain comes in bursts. Nimbostratus is teasing us all today. Then it starts to pour heavily. Birds are not a species that will sit in fields of lashing down rain, especially not birds of prey.
A buzzard glides between trees as I make my way round, the mosaic of brown, grey and white feathers tilting between oaks and sycamores. It was the only sight I would have today.
I know it is going to be a tough call but the thought of missing out on something is too much already. I am getting hooked on what I’m trying to discover. I have been many times for walks down a National Trust area, called Erddig. It felt as natural as a horses hoof to mud and grass.
In these woods my feet never ached or moaned. My mind was as pure from walking in amongst trees and alongside rivers as could be. It was quite simply a gravitational pull. An affinity that has never died in us, and most rewardingly I just fitted in like a hand in a glove.

8/12/12
The sun is toast warm, cirrus clouds painting the sky with two long streaks meeting near the middle giving a cross effect. There seems to be three main fields that the buzzards settle on. The hunched look beams across the field creating a sombre view.
One buzzard stands out from the rest, female, big shoulders. She will occasionally jump at another buzzard, when they catch a worm or another unsuspecting insect.
There is no resistance here as she dominates all the others. I notice another bird near by, the Mistle Thrush, carefully pecking at the muddy earth. None of the buzzards show interest in the thrush and carry on sunning themselves in winter’s sun.
I see the big white chested female in the field opposite, standing loud on her own. A flock of seagulls sit in the corner, about eighty of them. A Mistle Thrush hops about too, playing with the big bird of prey, hopping close by and jumping back quickly. I hear a kee-ow in the woods, and wonder what the calling is for.
Gulls fly over, dropping to the ground and instantly flying back up to the sky. They seem to take turns hitting the floor as the buzzard takes no notice with her boulder neck stance.
I head for the woods, many tracks leave me with options to consider. The path I take is to become the split tree path. Sycamore leaves lie on the floor, glued together by frost. I see a nest in the trees, wondering if it is this years nesting site.
A tree catches my eye; it looked like two branches standing together until I get closer. Then I realise it is one tree split in half. Possibly by lightening during summer storms. One half sway slightly, the other keeps a solid stance. It was a fantastic sight. I wonder how long it will last?
A buzzard flies through the trees, calling out to anyone who wants to listen. I think it’s a female, and she flies back and too along the same section of trees. I return to the fields and see three buzzards on the ground. Occasionally they move in different directions as if they’re playing chess. Taking it in turns to progress.
The seagulls all shift together when I come into view, the buzzards seem to wait until one goes before another moves. Until all three of them have left the field.
This is something I have taken note of but whether this is a natural reaction only time will tell.

9/12/12
This morning is funeral dreary. It is a Sunday and you get the feeling Mother Nature wants to stay in bed. The sun is on vacation and nimbostratus hung around like grumpy schoolteachers.
As soon as I woke this morning I wanted to get outside and watch buzzards. The days are short now, too short. Once lunchtime is over you can feel the drag of night drawing in. The book ending of daytime, squeezing life as we know it back to the stars above.
The wind occasionally gusting, with the subtly of a hairdryer. At times I had to close my eyes form the harshness of it. Out of all the weather forces we have wind is the one I genuinely don’t like, you just get the feeling you are never getting anywhere.
The track I walk along has four fields, rather long ones that have a hedgerow and then another section of land. These first three are used the most, maybe because they’re furthest from the roads.
On the way back yesterday I found a field that has some parsnips growing, just a small clump of them on the edge of the soil. These fields are mainly hay and barley so was a little bemused to see these growing. But this is another area I will have to explore if I am to search for buzzards.
A buzzard slowly jaunts across the track, it must be the Sunday flight. Wings flexed out wide, and body straight. You can sense there is a relaxing sigh in there somewhere.
Two buzzards fly more urgently across the field, one is chasing the other, with territory is high on the list of agendas during a buzzard’s life.
They generally have ten primary feathers and a similar amount of secondary on the wings. This enables them to soar holding its body high up on thermals. A sparrowhawk is much quicker because it has to chase its prey, same as a goshawk,
Buzzards don’t generally chase prey with speed, but rather fall down from above or chase insects on the ground over small distances. A pigeon is adapted to sprint from birds of prey giving them strong pectoral muscles, making this more often than not successful when being hunted down by a sparrowhawk or goshawk. These birds of prey don’t have the stamina to carry on sprinting, similar to a cheetah chasing a Thompson gazelle. It’s all about the element of surprise.
When watching these raptors I’m already aware of how chilled out they are. They can quite gladly stay on the clumpy soil waiting for insects. Saving their energies for leaner times.
On the way back I see the hay barn emptying, about twenty bales are missing since the other day. A squirrel clambers over them and runs off. Plumes of smoke rise above Chirk. At night the lights shine from the main factories, creating a mini cityscape effect. It reminds me of Liverpool when we use to get the train home from a family visit. I always use to love looking back at what we had just left, with all the lights at night.

10/12/12
The frost has printed the land, gluing oak, sycamore and beech leaves together. There is a montage on the roadsides. Seagulls fly into the air.
Four plane trails fine line the sky, blemishing the aquatic blue hood of the earth, the human hand at work again against nature’s purity.
A pheasant jumps out, startling me for a moment. The noise it makes as it takes off sounds like someone shaking a hot water bottle. I watch two male pheasants fly across a field; I’m quite surprised at how well they moved. This is definitely a territory chase, wings straight and purposeful, homing in on his target. This wandering male must have stepped into his pursuers harem.
I make my way to Round Wood, a small group of trees at the edge of the field, separating the farmland from the bypass. Oaks are the main trees in here, their branches snaking out to wherever they want to go. I think that’s why people admire oaks, they seem to have a mind of their own. Some trees are boring in that they will grow to suit environment, oak trees don’t. Oaks reach out to wherever they want. Standing powerful against anything else too, and that’s including buildings made by man.
This plot of land attracts many buzzards, there must be a huge insect content here. Getting in this wood will hopefully get me closer. Loads of gulls out today and lapwings, with their wings, spoon shaped at the edges.
I see a fox set, can’t say if it’s in use. I carry on into the wood. Twigs hidden under the dropped leaves snap and crack under my bodyweight. Only one buzzard sits in the field, with its white chest and brown stomach. This male doesn’t seem too bothered that he has the land to himself. Cars buzz by from behind him.
I notice two nests in the trees, making note for the new breeding season. Though one I would say is too small the other could be a possibility. Though I have to admit it is rather close to the bypass.
A buzzard flies out as I walk steadily through, heading off to another perch. I wander what the gamekeeper would say if he saw me in here? I doubt he would be happy.
That thought goes through me as I head out, and turn for home. Waiting for the other buzzards to appear is too much today. The cold clings on me. I see the big female in the usual field. Accompanied by three other buzzards.
Once they start eating she quickly glides over to them, pushing them out the way for an easy meal. I find it amazing they can spot a movement of an insect eight feet away, even more sometimes. No one argues with the female as she dominates all the others with her size and strength.
She then sets off and disappears amongst the yellow glow of the dying sun, sucked in by the vacuum of earths light. Another buzzard comes into view, flying gently in a circle and across the field. Displaying a relaxed manner only truly felt on a Sunday.
A long tail tit hops from branch to branch as I make my way. The tail sticking out like a hand out of a car window.

11/12/12
Jack frost has coated the land. The road flickers like constellations in the sky. It will be interesting to see who was out today. The soil was hard and food limited. The track feels oven hardened as I walk, muddy becoming clay pot like.
Walking up the farm road the sun punches me straight in the eyes. A typical winters sun, hiding behind trees and hills. Ready to surprise you with a blast of energy.
Pheasant numbers are decreasing now. There was a time I could walk around here and see them scattering into the woods like naughty kids on a playground. The estate has shooting days and you hear the gunshots like fireworks. Pigeons are on the menu too and fly out with their amateurish flight.
On occasion I have seen dead pheasants on the wooded paths. Bones stripped of flesh, clean and white, standing out on the fuscous brown mud pink flesh still hanging on slightly eaten and gnawed.
Landrover tracks run along like railway lines on the frosted fields. I spot two buzzards in one field and a solitary buzzard in another. A faint kee-ow kee-ow can be heard in the distance similar to an echo at the back of a church.
I stand on an iced puddle to see where its breaking point might be. There is a slow crack and snap as I shift my weight, like the break of thin chocolate on ice cream.
Above a circling buzzard catches my attention. Its herring fish silver standing out amongst the frosty air. The buzzard moves its wings paint brushing the sky. Before being swallowed up by the sunrays as it glides away.
A boulder on the horizon is what I see when I notice the big female in her field. She moves her head around, almost a full rotation. Then brings it back and pushes her face into her pectorals.
Two more come to rest on a hedgerow. Scanning the rock hard landscape they don’t seem to interested in taking up a day of insect eating, it’s truly one of them days on life when everything is still. No breeze, no earth rotation, no running prey, no flying pigeons or blue tits. They stay there like two people looking out to sea. I head off home and think of the warm log fire awaiting me with its lava glow and wafts of smoke.

12/12/12
I have decided not to go for a walk today, yesterday had proved unproductive, as more frost has sprayed the earth through the night. Throwing the stick for the dog I was distracted by a movement, and there on the telegraph post, a buzzard.
I like to imagine it’s done a tour of the estate and realised that the sun has at last thawed out some land. A small field next to us with horses had started to thaw out, the green grass now looking more familiar than the mint colour of yesterday.
I watch him perched checking out the land below, like a head teacher on stage at assembly. He rotated his head, searching for danger, and any other buzzards before descending onto the ground below.
He picks at the floor and makes his way to the fencepost. Then after a moment to himself he jumps again to the floor. This time within a few feet of the horse lying down. He pecks at the soil, with a chicken like motion. The horse stayed there not in the least interested in the bird at his side.
The buzzard continues this for the next hour, jumping from a fence to pole to earth and back again. His hunger makes him stay and he knows he had the small field to himself. I’m impressed that out of the whole estate he should find this small patch of heated earth.
I watch with enchantment. Jasper and I being there doesn’t seem to bother him. And the horses carry on with their day too. How much he found to eat I don’t know but it was a delight knowing that they would venture so close to my house.

13/12/12
Crystallized branches greet me this morning. Ice puddles creaking like old floorboards, the sky invisible behind the talcum powder fog. I’ve been watching Sirius flickering below Orion’s belt these past few days but not last night. It was gone as if rubbed away by an artist’s finger. Even the lights of the factory in Chirk had disappeared after five o’clock.
Shoots of grass on the fields were mint coloured. As I walked along the track I knew it was going to be a day of labour. The cold grabbed me as soon as I left home, hugging my clothes before it seeped into my skin, then the bone.
There is no conker brown bird shape in any of the fields. As soon as I thought about heading home, my senses are awakened. A buzzard flies out of a sycamore, a little startled maybe at seeing a human out today. I watch her beat those immense wings, four beats, glide, four beats, glide, four beats and out of view. I always feel they could be pulling something when they take off. There seems to be a right good oomph to get their body going. But once airborne the power takes over, sweeping vast waves of air into the immediate pathways around them.
The ‘shooting in progress’ sign brought me to a halt yesterday. I stood there looking at the trees like a sailor looking out to sea. I wondered what the buzzards thought of it all as gunshots went off like fireworks.
Although I was disappointed I had to turn back I still got to see a buzzard. Sitting in the warmth of a log fire I looked out into our garden and one flew into an Ash tree. We have twelve trees in our garden and the surrounding fields and woods make it seem not like a garden at all but an extension of the countryside. Which I believe is how it should be anyway.
I enter the woods and realise how still they are. Everything Is paused, as still as death. I see the nest, an upside down hanging basket, sitting in the fork of branches. This is the most important time to find nests, when the mating season is months away and leaves lye scattered on the ground.
The more I locate the better as this will dictate where best to walk come springtime. On my way through I hear a distant kee-ow. Echoing through bark like some wandering dream I had which lingers in my thoughts all day.
Another nest is high up in an oak. The situation of it is quite plausible but still some exposure. I make a mental note of it’s position and see if anything happens.
My thighs are now smothered by frost. I see home in the distance, smoke bellowing out, imagine logs will crackling and coal glowing, welcoming you home

23/12/12
There was an anchor that I need to release. Work has been tough lately and tiredness has took over my life, though I was acutely aware that this is just a mindset.
The pull and urge to get out into the woods is overwhelming. There seems to be a magnetic force, drawing me in. It is also a beautiful feeling. For the first time since I discovered Snowdonia there is something in the outside world that has taken over my thoughts. I feel like a youngster again, wanting to get out into the world to discover. You know that feeling of newness that childhood brings? Well I was feeling it all over once more.
On the estate there are so many paths that I’m convinced they link up somewhere. This is a shooting estate, the gamekeeper would need complete access. I haven’t got round to linking all of them as the estate is very big. But today I have chosen one that will if I’m correct lead me back to Rhosymedre wood and then home.
Rain has mashed the soil, landrover treads map each field and path and the sun is never high enough to give the trees anything more than a fire glow of heat.
Two buzzards stand in one field, their torsos speckled and damp. Worms should be plentiful today. Three other buzzards fly out of a row of trees that I was walking towards. Their khaki coloured wings flapping against the grey sky. They always fly a good distance away from me before settling, perhaps never too sure if I had a gun or not.
There is also that silence today, I wonder if it’s similar to a battle silence, where the dead lie and wait to be gathered by relatives for burial? I watch from the garden yesterday seeing a man wave a white flag. Before guns fired again and again, like popping bed springs.
The path declines into the bole of the wood. I’m in new territory and I’m also unsure as to whether the gamekeeper would be happy to see me this far in. Branches netting the view, I can see the river, various paths and the landfill site in the distance.
A pheasant jumped out scaring the hell out of me. I have nothing to fear as Britain’s wildlife has changed dramatically over the last thousand years or so but you can’t ignore your own senses being aware. This for me is all new, and though there’s no chance of seeing a grizzly bear I can’t help feeling alert.
Two buzzards soar across the sky. I watch them from within the trees, every now and then they will virtually touch each other. A tap of love from a touch of the feathers. The female being the largest will let her male companion know when to move away, angling her talons into his breastbone. They do this for a few minutes before waltzing away.
I disturb another buzzard that shoots out of the trees and sweeps above the rivers face. A path leads down to the river level. Sloppy steps from all the rain don’t look too enticing, a soggy rope hangs on wooden posts. I notice numbered plates sticking out of the ground and realise this is the pheasant- shooting arena. A theatre of death.
On my way through the wood I notice something that seems to be quite frequent. A red rust colouring of the bark, I’m not sure if this is a disease but see it run down the middle of many trees.
I eventually make my way along the paths and back into the daylight. Pillars of light blaze the golden leaves until I come out and see the sullen skinning yard with its stacks of pallets waiting like flat packed coffins.

28/12/12
Nimbostratus hoods the atmosphere. A buzzard circles high up, swerving through the awaiting rain. I also have that feeling I had just missed something. As if there was something else here but now it’s gone, a vacant aura, a passing of time.
Pigeons skate out of the trees with the urgency of running from a bomb. Even the slightest of noise sets them off. I rarely see them on the ground, paranoia of being shot at is too much for these guys.
Seagulls congregate in a field. I watched them the other day and they seemed to be playing a game of chase, as one spearheaded the others to follow. I come into view by the gate entrance and see five buzzards near each other. A pheasant flies over the hedgerow and flaps its tail like a mermaid in the ocean.
The soil is graveyard dreary, and the bark on the trees coffin coloured. Another end to another year, how quickly life passes by, as you grow older. Each day is getting closer to the end of your own existence. I went back to my childhood home the other day and noticed the same people in what looked like the same positions as the last time I was there. I see people as two types, the ones who show the world how to live or not too live. This is done by behaviour, how they act and perceive their own life. Then I see the other type, the people who don’t have that option. But they are there for us to learn from. It’s as if God himself is saying look at this person, see the way they are; now you choose how to behave with them and learn something about the morals of life. They seem to be in the same clothes, walk the same streets, and have the same mannerism all their lives. And you wander what is their purpose? This is what I felt when I went down that same road home.
For me this is an inward/outward expressive theory. People show themselves to the world by how they are and it’s up to others to see that. Then there are people who can control what they illustrate and their challenge is to express that properly.

JANUARY
1/1/13
New years day! I’m glad Christmas is over, it’s not that I don’t like the festive season but I am a man of routine. The last month of the year you are so busy and stressed you kind of forget what day it is. But then you hit January and come into the worst month of the year. It’s the darkest, most sullen of months. I pine for March.
The sun waits for me as I walk up the track and round the corner. I always have a sense of walking on stage as I head up the gradient and into the acres of land. A tree catches my eye, right on the edge of the field. Wind erosion has blown away the soil and exposes roots like varicose veins bulging out of the earth.
A buzzard circles above manoeuvring through the air as graceful as a skater on ice. Its wings perfectly still, smooth arks above the trees. I spot a pair of buzzards on the ground. Standing in a bus shelter silence.
It is candle warm today, a clear blue sky too gives us some hope for the future. I’m so eager to get into the woods it is taking over my daily thoughts. I feel like I’ve found something, some purpose and moral code to live by.
As I walk into the wood I spot a buzzard on a low branch. It must be no less than four feet off the floor. This is the closest I’ve ever been to one. For a moment my life is paused, then the snapping of a twig gives the game away. The buzzard flies off with urgency. I could cry.
Then everything changes, a gunshot in the woods and I’m instantly alert. My senses wake up from the meditative slumber I am in. Questions flow through my mind like water along a riverbed. Have I walked past the white sign? Had they forgotten to put it up? Or has it even fallen over?
I decide it best not to carry on and head home. I wander what the gamekeeper is doing, possibly hunting for pigeons or pheasants for New Year day dinner?
As I can’t be too sure I quicken my pace. Another shot that seems to echo around my rib cage. I watch two buzzards skate through the air, round and round, float and swing, then they just stop to hover. I have no time to watch as the day ends in disappointment.

6/1/13
I can’t wait to get out today, like a child let free in a toyshop, my exuberance takes over my own sense. The last few days have been more like spring than winter. Even the Mrs has been out turning the weeds.
I’m not entirely convinced by the global warming theory. Considering how old the earth is and it’s only been the last two hundred and fifty years that human society has started to pollute in a big way, I don’t see how we could’ve done such damage in a small space of time.
But naivety has got the better of me before so who really knows? We definitely need solutions but there’s so much hate in the world that I don’t see much chance of that happening. But I hope I’m wrong.
As soon as I hit the corner nine buzzards come into view, six in the air and three on the fields. My walks are usually the same now, the protruding stones don’t hurt my feet as they did a few weeks back, the edges did shock my tarmac friendly soles. I have often thought what it would feel like walking it barefooted. Is it any wonder that humans are losing touch with their senses when we live in such comfort?
The power of touch is underestimated. I see it in work when were pushed and stressed out. A gentle hold of someone’s shoulder can rejuvenate his or her spirits. I feel weak as a man. Half the power and thought I should have. Every part of our world Is about comfort and convenience. Is it any wonder that people living in open fresh air exposed to the elements have a stronger physical presence that someone like myself? Nature moves around me some days when in the woods and I’m oblivious to it.
A buzzard flies off with something in its claw. I struggle to make out what it is but she seems to want to eat it in peace. They always keep low to the soil when flying away from me. Knowing the dark soil will give them better camouflage. I never see them do more than four or five beats of the wing either, unless they see a human. Then there is some powerful push and pulling of the pectorals.
Four buzzards fly over Darland wood. They look like fighter planes going over Dover cliffs in WW2, I nearly send them a wave of luck as I watch their remoteness increase.
A female sits perched on a hedgerow. Her beer coloured eyes alert, the white-feathered chest like froth. Her stillness draws me in. I want to get closer even too close. From a distance she looks like the last blob of snow.
I head into the woods and hope to see the soaring fighter planes come back. A pheasant jumps out rattling into the air. I watch two squirrels fight over pheasant food. One will start nibbling then the other will chase. They go around in circles before stopping again. It’s comical and engaging. Then they’re off again. Round and round.
Six buzzards come into view and pencil the sky with their flight. Two of them fly towards each other nearly touching each other’s chest. They are all relaxed, showing off their wing skills. There is a nonchalant emotion to their day. I stand and keep watch. Do they know I’m here? Most probably.
A yellow light shines behind the cumulus. Grey clumps of cloud fuse together, how I wish for blue sky again. We need light, natural light. It gives us a sense of hope. As if the future is there with a warm hand waiting.
The buzzards swirl around above the trees. Maybe they’re waiting for me to go? But I stand and watch and the moment so beautiful I just want it to last forever.

7/1/13
Today I take my dog, Jasper, he doesn’t pull as much now with his maturity, though the sight of a running pheasant raises his head. I’m not entirely sure I could trust him. Bird watching isn’t the best idea when you have a collie on the lead but this is where he’s happiest, where he belongs.
The first time I took him up Snowdon he was only seven months old. Too say it never touched the sides is an understatement. He flew up it and would’ve gone again if I had the energy, thankfully I didn’t. You’ll never see a more happier dog than when they’re let loose on fields and hills. All their senses wake up and they become something else.
I really feel for the dogs that are spoilt to the point where a walk is a hindrance to their day. Dogs like humans need open space, fresh air, and nature to liven up the senses. We treat all other species with this simplicity that they surely can’t have the same emotions as us. Nowhere else is my dog more happier than running around.
The lead isn’t something I agree with but I have to respect areas where I have to use them. Around this estate I have to use it due to the pheasants. It is a business and someone’s livelihood. Sheep areas are the same, I don’t mind this restriction but any chance I have to let him loose I do.
The rain hangs in the air like perspiration on a window waiting to fall. Have you ever seen rain in the distance? The misty sheets angling like dust swept off a mountaintop. The sun shines like a torch in fog as grey clouds do their best to hide the yellow rays.
I look up and see around fifty seagulls circling then more came in from afar. This is to be a most beautiful moment. I stand as if in a trance, as more and more came in. They circle and circle, reaching higher and higher as if in a tornado or at least trying to create one themselves.
The sun tries in vain to pierce the clouds. A golden light shines through and the seagulls get higher again. Now there is over a hundred swirling round. They come in from the landfill site and amenity centre.
I am half expecting the heavens to open up and God himself hold out a palm. They are enticed by something unseen, a magnetic pull, a whisper. Jasper doesn’t show much interest other than he wants to carry on walking.
I watch their white and grey feathers in a conical flight giving me a memory to last a lifetime. Then as if a bell rings for break over they disperse. I get to see one buzzard today. I watch from a gap in the hedge. I think it is a male as he stands there waiting for an insect.
Then like a letterbox opening and post pushed through he bends forward lifts his tail and has a number two.

13/1/13
I have some good news this week; a badger is spotted on our lane. Humbug face was shoulder walking searching for food. I hope it could be the start of a friendly relationship.
The bird food is going down well. I’ve also set up eight boxes for springtime. I hope someone takes residence. Long tailed tits, Blue and Great tits are in number here. Bullfinches perch on the old nettles eating seeds. A nuthatch was seen on the neighbour’s fat balls (sounds painful!) the other day. I hope they can take a flight up to our garden.
But there is something that is happening that we aint too happy with, it’s snowing. I’ve never lived in such a remote place before, though we have the main road near by it does feel like you’re away from it all. It will definitely curtail my wanderings.
You can’t hear anything but sense something is happening. The only good point about the snow is it hides human activity. For once the lands feel like it did thousands of years ago. Original and pure. I will forget tarmac, drains, litter, sewage pipes, and whatever else it tries its best with.
I go to bed with a childlike energy, wandering what footprints I will find in the garden tomorrow.

14/1/13
The snow has stopped early. I was surprised. Only a thin layer sat so I went out and searched for buzzards. Then I see the sign ‘shooting in progress’. Sighing I turn back and head for home. My breath filters out like steam from a kettle.
As I write this small piece Jasper has placed his ball on the sofa. Then he bends his whole body over the arm of the chair and gives me that cute look. I know I’ll throw it but let him stay like that for as long as possible. Then he places another ball and sits looking at me.
This seems to be a regular thing for him, usually when I’m reading or writing. Also when I eat custard creams, watch sport, and dip jammie dodgers into my tea.

19/1/19
The snow is back and lies in thick blocks. After teasing me the other day this time it shows whose boss. I sit at home knowing it’s pointless trying to search for birds of prey.
There is no use mulling over what to do so I set about finding what birds we have in our garden. We have twelve trees in our garden, sycamores and pine, beech and hawthorn. I’ve planted some mountain ash and hope to stay here long enough to see them grow.
Being on the edge of the estate we have woods and farm fields close by. A stream flows under the lane heading towards the River Dee, which passes through the estate.
Bullfinches and siskins battle it out for the nettle seeds. Waving in the wind and balancing expertly as the thin stalks look to be giving way. Two pines have been cut down in the front garden and stumps of the dead still stand. This is a perfect place for putting out bird food and gets a lot of attention. I’ve seen great tits and blue tits on here.
Blackbirds, wood pigeons and pheasants lurk around these stumps all eyeing each other up before pecking at any fallen seed, fearful of any predators waiting to strike.
A Mistle Thrush hops in, the speckled chest very artistically dabbed on her feathers. A Song Thrush will join the party also, picking at mealworms that lie stiff on the base of the stump. We have a number of tree off cuts that are great for feeding tables. I place these around the garden.
A jay is spotted with its exotic colouring, far bigger than I expect I’ve only ever seen one once or should I say noticed one. I have heard these down the woods with that Halloween sound, shreeeek. It goes through the trees like a lingering nightmare.
I sometimes wander if woods and other areas of the earth like seas and oceans, deserts, mountains have emotions. That breeze you hear through the leaves, a crashing of the waves, a mist on a mountaintop, are they a part of their conscience? An extension of expression and rumination?
The beautiful goldfinch shows its face. I think we have around half a dozen that come in from the trees. The black and yellow wing with the red splattered face they look so dainty furbelows of the bird world.
They all love raisins and sultanas, devouring them as a child with a pack of sweets. The crows and jackdaws haven’t come down yet. They linger on the outskirts occasionally flying over to check the goods. Being the bigger bird they will stand out to prey and are slower at taking off then a blue tit or chaffinch. We have loads of chaffinches in the pines, darting down as if on a string before catapulting back up.

23/1/13
The snow still looks like raised loaves in an oven. Hanging on branches, a caster sugar effect. At night the snow allowed me to see over the farm fields, that dim glow guiding my eyes to look into the nightly distance.
Today I set off with not much expectation. A couple of buzzards fly over our house the other day but that’s the only sighting I’ve had. pheasants bring a smile to my face as they run through the snow. You don’t see the legs but just a body skating along. It’s rather comical as they make their way to safety from the slightest noise.
For the first time ever I get to see a hare. It’s much bigger than a rabbit, more athletic and robust. After seeing this fellow I wander if rabbits are retired hares? with their rotund shape and dozy exterior.
He moves off and disappears into the hedgerows. Delight shines on my face as I make my way round. The simplicity of nature cheering me up from the mundane days of snow bound.
Traffic rumbles along the bypass giving that constant humming sound similar to a tumble dryer. There’s that cushion deftness to every step, a low muffled sound followed by a crunch. Snow slows everything down; maybe Mother Nature itself is saying take note of what you have. You’re changing the world and not for the better. This is what you could lose, eventually.
I hear a buzzard in the trees and get a glance as he glides through. The only sighting I have all day. It must be so tough for them, no wander birds die in such conditions. At least with the bigger birds they have more stored energy. Finches and Tits won’t last long out here. Buzzards conserve a lot of energy, only really moving when they have to.
I see a huge cage contraption in the woods. Mesh sides with a cat flap type entrance. I ponder what it could be then maybe realise it’s for the pheasants to eat their seed during snow?

FEBRUARY
3/2/13
Pheasant season is coming to a close. The snow has finally gone, all is changing again and hope is around the corner. I wander if the seasons are what human life really is? Spring is birth summer life, autumn dying and winter death. Then you are re-born again and continue the cycle. So at this moment I’m in summer? Or could I be in autumn?
A strong wind occasionally blows down into my face. Sweeping through the trees making them sway like fans at a music gig. Most of the trees down here are young, maybe fifty years. Though there are some oaks that are a good age.
I try another road this morning, trying to map the whole estate in my mind. I’m slowly piecing it all together, there are so many off shoots to walk down, usually ending to nothing or pheasant pens.
I take the path parallel to the split tree path, this will take me to the other side of Darland wood. I see the pheasant fences that keep them confined to a certain area, also trying to keep foxes out. Which I would say is very difficult to do.
A bridge leads me further on, a river runs under gushing along to the Dee. I’m quite surprised at the drop. The track runs past the bridge that I would say will take me back home. So I carry on into the woods my boots occasionally getting sucked into the earth.
Buzzards fly above teasing the thermals with their flight. I’ve seen wood pigeons lose control in a strong wind but not the buzzard. They seem to ask for more wind, faster stronger gusts.
I spot a huge nest in the centre of the woods. The biggest I’ve seen to date and make a mental note of its location. It sits in the vase of a tree. This could be a possible nesting place in a few weeks time. It looks like a small bath made of twigs.
There is though a strange feeling being down here, all the trees appear dead, lifeless. The obvious is missing, leaves, but there seems something else. I’m not entirely comfortable being down here at this moment. Everything moves with the wind so life is going on but what is it that makes me feel out of sorts?
Then it hit me, sound! The trees are vacant of meaning from blowing in the wind. They’re muted in winter’s sullen expression. How sound is another expression of a tree. Do people realise this when they walk amongst them? Does each kind have a different noise? All sound wave like, or sweeping dust off a wooden floor, maybe it’s best to determine when they’re all full of leaves?
A buzzard flies out of the wood as I stand on the rim, then she glides back in as if she had forgotten something. A pair of buzzards do exactly the same teasing any prey to show their face. A clump of feathers lie on the ground, a pigeon, I wander if it’s a sparrowhawk or buzzard?
Molehills now run along the fields like mini mountain ranges or acne on a teenager. I’ve always liked moles most probably because of the book Wind In The Willows. But still, their damage to human life can be seen though in their heads they aint doing wrong, how right they are.

7/2/13
The mrs scrapes the ice off her car window. It is thick and tight on everything it could possibly glue to. I am up early and set off. A woodpecker sounds in the trees. TAP TAP BUZZ TAP TAP BUZZ. I’ve never had the beauty of hearing this bird before but there it is. I can’t wait to get into the fresh air.
Spring is fast approaching now as the sun starts to warm for another day of shining. Moles and squirrels are everywhere and daffodils seem to be growing hourly.
On passing through this part of the track I always disturb a buzzard perched on a tree. Territory is vital to a predator’s life especially now the breeding season is drawing closer. It amazes me to see them all together on the fields standing as a flock but I’m sure this won’t last much longer.
A flock of geese fly over. On walking the dog the other night I heard them fly over. Just catching their form in the sky they had a flight path that soon veered to the right, then they followed another flight path. It was an amazing piece of instinctive behaviour like a car on a motorway. I swear I saw one at the back indicate with its wing.
Crows barter at each other, maybe arguing over the choice of worms. Jackdaws are loud too puffing up out the trees like coal dust. This corner of the field is very active. Wood pigeons linger around here too. They all group together making a right old racket.
Occasionally the pigeons will all fly out as if disagreeing with the corvids. I watch a buzzard eat a worm, gulping it down reminding me of Jasper with sausages. The buzzard then leaps up and takes a short flight over the soil, taking in another insect. This amazes me, how did he realise there was such movement? The eyesight must be immense. Then something I haven’t seen yet, he runs baggy legged across the earth. I smile at this, as the bird of prey finally looks normal.
Leaning against a sycamore I look over the passing river. There are fields on the other side leading to the landfill site. I ponder how to get over there. Rabbits would be in number I’m sure so it would be a good hunting ground for the raptor.
Two buzzards patrol the area, searching for food. A heron glides out of a pond and I finally catch a bird that can be watched the whole time in flight. The lumber some movements stay in my binoculars. Each beat of the wing has the same speed of a man cutting logs with an axe.

9/2/13
A veil of mist hangs throughout the day today. I am up at half six and am dying to get out but the foggy view puts me off for a couple more hours.
As I walk up the track I see a buzzard sat on a branch, a slender body must be a male. He doesn’t take long to realise I am there as he turns his head to look over his back. He then flies to the trees and I carry on walking. Whenever it rains you always see them on the edge of the woods, stalking, waiting, or fluffing out there feathers.
Five buzzards stand on the biggest field. The wet weather will have brought out loads of worms I suspect. I head into the wood and stand by a beech tree. This is something I do during my walks, and this tree has become a firm favourite. I’m in an elevated position and see the river and fields down below. Buzzards always swing around these trees.
Some tree felling has been happening as they lie in heaps on the muddy earth. The tracks are very slippery; rain hangs on shrubs waiting to fall. Dampness sits all around, giving the wood a slight rainforest feel.
I always notice the silence when down here. A meditative atmosphere, until a pheasant jumps out throwing itself into the air. A buzzard flies over and calls out, this is something I’ve noticed during my wanderings. Whether this is territory behaviour I’m not entirely sure but even when I am not down the woods I see them circling and calling.
A clump of feathers lies on the ground. The feathers are fresh this is most probably a sparrowhawk as they’re quite tightly together showing the meticulous feather pulling of the bird of prey.
Clay makes the walk amusing as I slip and slide. I have no phone on me and just a slip now could lead me to all sorts of problems. I remember life without mobile phones but I find it amazing how attached people are to them. If you don’t have one you’re seen as strange, an outsider. I’m not a facebook person, or into twitter. I value my privacy and would hate to think people that don’t know me read my messages. I think the world has turned a corner that we’ll never turn back too. That space is now all but lost. Though in time, I believe people will crave that again, we always go back to ways that happened in the past.
Wordsworth use to walk for miles at a time, his mind meandering through creativity. He had space that I could only dream of. Sometimes when I’ve been up the hills around Llangollen I have wanted to carry on, set off on a two or three day trek. I desire that space and expansion of thought. When I don’t walk I feel I’m being suffocated.
I stand on a gradient looking into the bole of the trees. A great tit flies past, their little wings skating through branches and to safety. A buzzard circles high up going round the roundabout of its encoded instinct. Have these birds evolved to fly a certain way to improve its chances of survival? Or is it the expression of its own emotions that make it fly a certain style?

10/2/13
It is three days until my birthday. Time passes by without notice until a birthday. I am glad to be in the position I am in life.
he only life you should lead is your own. There are far too many opinions on how to live today, and people lose track of themselves.
I’m so eager to get out but the rain is lashing down. Yesterdays big walk has lifted my spirits, refreshed my mind. I also slept like a baby, which is better than any supplement out there.
We need rain just as much as plants and trees. Human beings evolved in rain, sun and wind. These are elements that we need to keep in touch with. When I was younger I use to enjoy jogging, and never loved it more than when there was a drizzle.
I put my wellies on and head off. I’m not expecting too much from today if it carries on like this but the draw of freedom entices me out. I never feel as good as I do after walking. People spend hundreds of pounds on holidays, they come back and are genuinely happy in their demeanour. But once they settle back into everyday life they slip back into that up and down character. Why is this?
We associate happiness with things that we didn’t have many years ago. Everything in society today should be treated as a bonus. The most important aspects will always be nature orientated. Unfortunately humans now live in a world where this isn’t seen as important.
Depression, Anxiety and Stress can be beaten by being in touch with yourself and to develop that you need nature, and walking is the key to this. When we moved here it stressed me out. I looked at the big gardens, the fields and woods. I asked myself questions I never knew existed. Now after all the walks and views my biggest fear is that we may move one day. The thought of moving back into a council estate, or a street full of houses, that scares me.
A buzzard sits on a branch. The rain prevents him from taking flight, drizzles are now lashings of rain. Leaves droop and sag. Bark is drenched and damp. Puddles grow like bacteria. I carry on in the hope of seeing something, knowing that when I get back home my energies will be replenished.

15/2/13
I head off into the toast warm air. New beginnings only feel a day away as spring echoes in the near future. A female buzzard calls near the skinning yard, she does this regularly while she perches. Then back and too in flight through a small wood she carries on with her calling.
I haven’t noticed this behaviour before but there is definitely something up. There seems to be an urgency and I wait to see what it could be. Maybe she is calling me to the woods, ‘C’mon Gaz get down here’
Three buzzards circle high up in the stratosphere. Plane trails linger in the sky, hardly no clouds today as a blue canopy hangs over us. They circle until they’re mere dotes in the sky, corkscrewing their way up.
Two of them close in on each other until they nearly touch breasts. I thought this might end up in a fight but they keep roller coasting in the aqua blue. Something flies past me and I follow it, watching it bob in the air fluttering its wings. It’s the first butterfly of the year. Though I never got chance to see what it is.
Mating season is starting to grow as I spot four then five then six buzzards in the air above the woods. I lean against the beech tree and watch with delight. They all tease each other, showing off their bodies, floating by on thermals as if dancing to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake.
The woods are quiet but not silent, there’s a buzz a gentle hum of new beginnings. The buzzards display feelings of relief that winter is now subsiding.

17/2/13
I walk down the split tree path, autumn leaves now crinkled winter ones. This path is a tunnel with the stream down below on one side and the farm fields up the bank on the other.
It also leads to a pheasant pen area and there’s a little hut with food for the bullet dodgers. This is the first trail I walked down on the estate, the path that enticed me the most.
On walking through I check all the foliage for nests. The beauty with being in such a unique position is that you are near enough level with the tree canopies. The height of the path with steep drop to the stream below enables you to have a good eye level of what is going on at the tops.
Then the biggest nest seen to date hits me, a massive bath of twigs and branches. It’s easily over a metre long and sits on the palm of the tree. With its fingers reaching further up they add some protection to the nest. I’m delighted to see this, as I know this nest is a buzzards, far too big for anything else on the estate and well away from human intervention by being deep in trees.
I’m absolutely thrilled and make a note for when the breeding starts. Fingers crossed this gets used again. I head down into the woods, muddy prints from the landrover scar the track. I hear the river flowing with an urge, like it’s late in meeting with the sea.
Out of the blue five buzzards appear in the sky. They come in with a bouncer frown and check me out as I stand with binoculars at hand. They circle in unison, trying to forge a relationship for the summer. They rapture in delight at seeing each other and then reach for the clouds.
They soon disappear and I carry on to the river. Making my way through overgrown shrub and bramble. How I miss these days of venturing through wilderness. We use to do this as kids all the time in the summer. River walking was a favourite, then walking home with stinking trackie bottoms. Rumours of water rats caught our breath. Eels lurked in tyres, under stones and at river edges. Any story took a hold of you back then.
The river flushes through, as I come to a halt. I was pleasantly surprised to see a path running alongside and took it as a chance to wander. Seagulls come in from the landfill site not far from here. Dog tracks print the path, also a print that could be a wild cat? I’m not the best at spotting prints. It starts off as a field mouse but by the time I get home it’s a Bengal Tiger.
I walk over an enchanting bridge made from sawn logs, with branches for rails. It’s a beautiful spot to fish and notice litter on the side. Someone obviously does. The sound of kee-ow kee-ow reminds me of why I’m here and I head back into the wood.
Two buzzards are literally a stone throw up in the air, or so it seems. This is the closest I’ve been while they’ve been in flight. They imitate each other in the air delightfully swinging their bodies as if on a piece of string.
I’m engrossed at the courtship then to my amazement, four five six then seven more raptors come into view! There is definitely a reason and it’s mating partners. I’m in my element now as I watch silver wings merge into brown, two contrasting colours, shine and dull, past and future.
Then I recount and find a total of fourteen buzzards above me! They seem to be coming in from all over, stitching the sky with their wing tips. A tapestry of flight, of love being staged in front of me and I don’t want it to end.
One of them has a gap in its primaries, making a hatch of light appear through its wing. Possibly lost from a fight or just the plain old age syndrome.
Eventually they all move on, and I stand in bliss. Three months ago I would see a handful on the fields and that would be my lot. Today has taken the numbers to a high and left me wandering about the way these birds of prey actually live and socialise.

18/2/13
Today is cold. It has that cemetery feel to it with hanging mist and vacant sky. The sun tries to shine through the clouds, similar to light through a slightly open door. Crows constantly bicker, gulls fly back and too and wood pigeon’s race from tree to tree.
Grass shoots start to appear like hair on a shaven head. On the biggest field here I count thirteen buzzards, all within ten feet of each other. They rarely move as I lean against the oak tree. Then just like a game of chess one moves before another counteracts.
I see the big female at the back, her white chest ablaze against the brown soil. I notice a couple of others have drips of white feathers on their breast while some are all brown.
This is energy saving at a premium. I feel for the worms, they must be going about their day with a relaxing stretch and pull before a talon picks them up or a beak snatches at them. They have no hope of running away. After all the effort of cleaning the land for better soil this is what they get in return! I’m glad I’m not an earthworm.
I watch for awhile before the cold grips my skin and tattoos it with frost. I start walking again and see a buzzard perched on the willow. She watches over the whole field, camouflaged against winter’s sullen colouring.
Two buzzards fly over Darland Wood and I head into the trees. Immediately four come into view, as if stuck on a roundabout or tying rope around a post they do their usual flight.
A landrover sounds behind me; I turn to see its Cyril one of the estate workers. He’s a small guy and past retirement age, I have been told he’s close to seventy. I always have a natter with him, as he’s a nice bloke and talks about the old days of the estate. I have to admit I would love his job. Being out in the open and seeing nature first hand would be a pleasure for any pair of eyes.
Apparently I might need a permit to walk around the woods, something I wasn’t told of before. I also ask him what would the gamekeeper do if he saw me down here? it depends what mood he is in I am told. It would be a shame to argue over a walk through the woods though I do see horse hooves around here so others must go wandering.
The pheasant season is coming to a close and they will be rounding them up soon to cull. Then the laying starts again around April time. A minimum shoot consists of three hundred birds and at the price per head I’ve been told it’s quite an expensive hobby.
A nuthatch greets me on the tree stump in the garden as I come home. This is most probably my favourite bird with Its black stripe over its eyes giving the impression of a bandit.

23/2/13
Sunday morning stillness wakes me up. I feel the whole world has abandoned and migrated. I adore these sort of mornings, you can think, breath, escape, I couldn’t wait to get out.
As soon as I hit the road a crow comes into view chasing a buzzard. Their flights different in technique, one slow and lumber some the other fast and furious.
Then a flick of the body and the buzzard raises itself tilting its wings but still the corvid chases. Eventually the hawk flies into the trees. I am shocked at such a submission.
The morning must be a lazy one as I only get to see three buzzards in total. Not the like the possibly fifteen plus of the other day. I see the buzzard with the missing primaries flying over Hopyard Wood constantly calling.
The woods are vacant of colour, dead from some incurable disease I pray for spring. Life is paused; even the pigeons are less in activity now. The occasional Jay pings out some unreachable tone. Some bird songs you can hear and nearly touch, there that melodic but not the sound of the jay. It goes through the trees like some flying blade.
Walking down the split tree path I see remains of a bird, a rook.. Two wings lie next to each other with the torso a little further up. The breast has been sliced open as if by an axe. I see the head nearby and gently kick it, its solid from frost and sounds like a golf ball rolling on a floorboard.

27/2/13
It all feels empty today. I feel empty. Trees stand motionless and bare. The rookery is quiet. And a mist similar to a watering gun spray hovers around the fields. I head to Hopwood and Darland wood.
Seagulls fly about in the fresh sky, occasionally falling to find food. Pheasant season is nearly over and there seems an echo of gunshots in the air, but it’s just the sound of the landfill site with clanking metal buckets.
As I walk through something hits me, a black object dangling off a branch. I go over to investigate and see a rook. Half its body gone as is dangles by the slightest of grasps. Two female pheasant skeletons lie elsewhere, blood matting the feathers together.
Metal numbered legs lie on the ground in a bundle. Collected up after shooting is finished. The birds now have a safer wood to fly through. In this wood is a big nest and I’m keeping regular checks on It for any action. This could possibly be used again as buzzards tend to do that for several years.
This is a young wood, I can nearly get my hands around some of the trees. I would love to come back in two hundred years time, to see its maturity.
I look up into the pines and see four nests in a line, all similar sizes and parallel heights. I wander what could have kept coming back to this area? A pigeon kill greets me on the corner, feathers plucked out into a montage possibly a sparrowhawk kill.
I count eight buzzards searching for insects. They can digest worms because they have a long gut. This is unusual among birds of prey but it’s enabled them to have a bigger array of eating habits.
One female stands out from the rest, she has a gold tinge to her feathers, making her stand out against the soil. She is definitely a new bird to the group; and at the back standing like a boulder strewn on a beech, the white chest of the dominant female.

MARCH
5/3/13
Dust paints the view like dirt flicked up after a passing tractor. The sky is also vacant of any cloud. A ray of light torched across the land enticing new growth in deep lying seed.
My knees are sore today, work has been heavy lately taking its toll on joints and ligaments. The one thing I hate about work is the floor, there is never any give, just a solid platform that stiffens the muscles.
I don’t plan anything big today, a wander will be all I want. Five buzzards circle high up increasing their altitude until the stratosphere is reached. I watch with glee until they fall into the vacuum of the sun, sucked into its very own soul, disappearing as if swallowed.
The white chest of a male sits on a willow scanning the two main fields. Hibernation will soon be over and all sorts of food will be scurrying around. He moves his head nearly full rotation and looks over his back. The white feathers immersing into the filemot brown like snow on a mountaintop.
A chase ensues before my eyes, a crow after a buzzard. The sprint is on from the crow as he flaps his wings like a drowning man with flailing arms. The buzzard keeps just ahead until he does something I’m yet to see. He spins his whole body over and shows the crow his talons. This is repeated several times but the persistence of the crow is gratifying to say the least. Similar to a fish after bait on a spinning wheel the corvid keeps chasing and chasing. Totally undeterred by the chance of being sliced.
The buzzard starts to climb higher but the crow stills persists, then out of nowhere the crow also shows its claws. It was maybe only a second but the emotion was evident. This time the buzzard seems to have had enough and flies over and into Hopwood Wood with the black pursuer still in its plane trails.
In the woods a jay screeches like a witch on a broom. Blue and great tits fly about and wood pigeons fly through with that nervous wing beat.

10/3/13
It’s nearly four pm as I head out for a walk. An icy breeze instantly thorns my skin, giving me a chill that will last the whole time I am out. Rabbits are on the edges of fields bouncing around until they see me coming then with a quick reverse and turn around there off into the shrubs.
I see a buzzard in hunting mode, its wings tight and aggressive. I’m not sure what it could be watching and I’m too far away to catch up. There’s a determination to its flight, a wheel of anger in the circling. I ponder for a moment the prey that could be totally oblivious to what I’m seeing. Just nibbling away at some insect then a swoop and grab of talons on its neck, dead.
Two raptors come into view, they’re both on a hunt as they scan intently. This isn’t the flight that I’ve been use to over the last few months. Obviously now is the time for expanding their food source and taking advantage of the coming of spring. I watch them glide to the trees and come back round.
Another couple of buzzards appear over the wood flying very close to each other. I will say this is a pair as they seem to tolerate each other very well. The numbers are increasing over the wood until there is a good eight buzzards swinging round.
The rabbits are more out now than in the morning, is there a connection with the increased activity in the air?
My fingers hurt from the cold, emergency blood vessels have released warm liquid to stem the freeze. Smoke rises out of the gamekeeper’s chimney, grey bulbous clouds hover above and cars filter by on the by-pass. It’s time for home.

13/3/13
I am in the middle of a week off, the garden has been taking a lot of my time with preparing beds and planters. This is the biggest garden I have ever had and hope to make it a successful one. Though there is much to do, nettles had been five feet tall when we first moved here, a good sign of nitrogen in the soil, it was also a pain to control and dig up.
A trip to Snowdonia filled my day yesterday. A snow blizzard caught me off guard, covering me in white flakes in seconds. The wind blew so hard into my face that I struggled to keep walking. It got to the stage that I barely could see in front of me. Then as soon as it started it was gone. Icicles hung on river edges as thick as bananas.
I love the area though; the whole scenery and terrain gives me such joy. Some people can climb the Himalayas, others the Rockies, I envy all of them but this is my Everest. Not everyone can achieve the same levels in life, but if you get the same enjoyment, it doesn’t matter what you accomplish.
Today was another day to get out and busy on. I’m not a person that can sit in all week, surrounded by his own dead skin. Is it plausible to think that a person who sits in regularly will never improve as a human? Surely newness creates fresh growth of skin and hair? Which in turn will form a better outlook?
I suffer with anxiety, have for several years. Being around nature is the only solution for me. I can’t understand why people ignore the purest form of life? There are days when the world is too much, it usually starts off with a stressful event then leads to two or three weeks of anxiety. It can life deliberating but I carry on. The only way really. Snowdonia seems to wipe my soul free of any bad feelings. All negative thoughts go out of my mind and I come home refreshed. My dream in life is too hopefully live there one day.
Molehills scatter the land like acne. There is even one in my recently planted onion row. Spring is upon us, interloping with a silent caress of its soul.
A form stopped me instantly as I walk up the track, a buzzard stands on a hedge. His white chain of feathers marked his torso. He scans the fields as I patiently stand still. A silver glow radiated off him from the lowering sun.
He has his head turned around, I stand for a good two minutes unable to move but wanting too. Maybe I could make a dash, try and touch his feathers. Or sneak up from behind and give him a tickle?
Rabbits are abundant, making darting runs into hedgerows as I walk. Rodents will be around too, and the odd pheasant lurking in the woods. He turns back round and the instant he sees me he flies off, nearly falling off the hedge in the process.
I watch a buzzard scuttle after an insect, running like a man with his hands tied behind his back. It’s quite comical, and always looks like they will topple over any moment.
We categorise this as the ‘Natural world’ so what world do we live in then? We have the same history as birds, arachnids, reptiles and cats. We’re so obsessed with what our future is that we’ve turned a corner, an ignorance corner. God expresses himself through nature; it’s how he communicates. In turn we should take note and learn from it.

16/3/13
Colour is still vacant from the woods. It’s starting to get to me, lifeless and still. They’re the same everyday, same colour, texture, and smell every walk. When is spring coming?
Since pheasant season has finished the world seems to be lacking something, a pressure on the eco system, a source of concern, a will to survive. I trudge through and hope to see something today, even a flash of shade will enlighten me. Then I see tint that makes my pupil wake up. A red colouring against a tree bark. A fungus, Scarlet Elf cup, lies on a rotting tree. It’s the first colour other than brown orientated this year. I’m delighted!
I get to the corner of the trees and stop in my tracks, a buzzard is drinking from a puddle. I hold my breath and see the snooker ball brown feathers with a hint of butternut; its beak dips into the water before sensing I’m there and urgently flies away. A chance encounter again.
There is definitely more airborne activity than the last few weeks, but more worryingly less buzzards. I don’t see them as much in the fields or together as I have done. Maybe they’re starting to fly to their usual territories?
Two buzzards fly over Round Wood, circling each side then flying over the car canal that goes through the middle of the estate. I think this could be an area for these two buzzards as I have seen this quite often. I also keep noticing a female on the willow in the hedgerow of two fields. She sits there patiently, scanning in her lonesome days.
A pair is also seen over Darland Wood, they occasionally have visitors with them but mostly it is just them two. I see a beautifully marked raptor standing alone in the field. Her chest starts off with a white band then a walnut band followed by another white strip with more walnut colour underneath.
I try new paths today doing my best to whittle away the secrets of the estate. Each path is fresh and wholly. It’s like turning over a new page in my mind, or opening up a window in a stuffy room. You can get stuck in habits, tunnelling your life with familiarity.
Imagine if all the paths we walked disappeared behind us? I believe it would make time more satisfying, our senses would wake up, there would be more purpose to each footstep.
That’s why I love looking out to sea, there are hidden pathways for sailors unseen to land people but it’s more rewarding.

17/3/13
Raptors are scattered everywhere today. I count at least fourteen of them. As I come into sight they all start to leave, their wings drafting the airwaves. A flock of siskins fly by, the black and yellow colourings, winter and summer contrast.
Drizzle falls gently tapping my forehead with a relaxing touch. The buzzards all start to land again, knowing worms will be enticed out by the falling rain.
If you watch a bird in flight its tail is the breaks, holding back the flight until there is a pause to land. The primaries on the wing are the steering and the secondary feathers are the most important as they grip the air. A powerful set of pectoral muscles attached to the breastbone give the bird chance to move the wings not in a up and down movement but in a motion similar to that of an oar rowing a boat this then enables the bird to rise and fly.
I head off under the bypass. The hum of traffic is relentless. A tractor track runs alongside the road so I take a chance and go for a wander. A run of hedge way separates me from the passing metal.
Three buzzards circle over Round Wood, then they soar majestically on a thermal. Using their primaries as steering wheels they climb higher and higher.
One darts off and I stand with binoculars. The sun lowers itself behind the world we see and a golden light shines on the passing raptor. Its wings set fire and a honey beam glows from the feathers. For a moment it doesn’t look real and it’s only when I see it glide to a tree that I realise it is.

28/3/13
We’ve had snow again. A good eighteen inches of it. We have been snow bound for a couple of days with no heating, electricity, or enough food. I’ve never been in such a position before, living in a town definitely has its strong points.
Yesterday we had everything on the fire, tea, soup, toast, bacon and eggs. It might sound great but it was hard going when you’re used to such comfort of a cooker and radiators.
Heading off to work is unreal, trudging through thick snow to the bus stop is at times horrendous. Then knowing you are going to do it again later on. Our bed is ice cold. Seeing our own breath in the house is the norm.
The dog loves it though. Bouncing round in fat snow is great for him. He looks at me when I shout ‘IN!’ very reluctant to come back inside. I throw the stick and it gets lost in the frazil. All I see is this white and sandy tail in the air wafting around., flicking up dusty white flakes.
But I have to admit it’s getting me down. You can’t do much, all the plant bulbs I’ve planted will suffer, potato seeds may not grow. I’ve done a dozen rows of peas, beans and onions, I doubt they will make it either.
I’m genuinely gutted, now I have the problem of waiting to see if anything will shoot. Do I seed some more as a precaution? I’m really not sure.
Today I have a chance to get out. I am the river, the tree, the mountain top, the horizon, I would be unable to breath without these things in my life.
I only see three buzzards today. I feel a loner looking for his lost soul. Branches hang snapped off by the weight of snow. Some of it has melted and now trickles down the paths.
I find it amazing how water will always try and find its source, a stream, river, estuary, or ocean. Imagine if we could flatten out all the hills and mountains on the earth. How much area would the sea have left?

31/3/13
Grass is finally showing again in the garden. Soil is breathing once more like a resuscitated lung. Spring is late coming. I am missing leaves I want them to canopy the land, give shelter to the wildlife.
I watch two buzzards soar in the sky. Their view of the land must be incredible from up there. Then one of them folds its wings back and heads off into a fast paced flight. It’s hunting. The other follows too.
I make the decision to walk in that direction. The cars fly past as I head under the bridge. Rabbits run around soon darting into the woods. They’re as numbered as pheasants now. I don’t see the buzzards strike but they must have had something as there is no sign anywhere, they would have flicked up again by now.
A six foot fence runs alongside the track, it’s to keep the pheasants secure. I feel like a prisoner of war looking in after escaping. Blue tubs sit with a tap for seed to come through. It must be a nervous life being a pheasant. I have to admit I’m yet to see any buzzards attack these birds. You see them all the time within striking distance, also near each other in the fields.
Two buzzards fight in the sky, a show of claws from both birds show the intensity of battle. One dives at the other as if flung from a catapult. Eventually the biggest raptor flies away.
Loads of branches have been damaged by the snow. They hang like broken limbs on dead soldiers. The chainsaws have been busy this week, their growling being heard all over the estate.
I hate wasting words, I wander how many words people waste in a day? Maybe I should record every speech I have for a week, then take out the nonsense. How many words would be spoken that was actually needed?
I’m not a chit chat person, never have been. When I talk I hope there is a sense to what I say. That’s why I love the countryside, you don’t need to converse. It talks to you and you listen.

APRIL
5/4/13
Clouds are smudged in front of the sun. Snow still lingers on the hills, leaving patches of white against the green grass. I walk slowly, casually, entering the open country with pleasure, without thought.
A buzzard lazily flies across my path, perching on a branch ten feet off the ground. I am maybe twenty feet away. He doesn’t seem bothered I am standing behind him.
His eyes are cave black, the roundness of his body gives him the expression of tiredness. A squat black nose appears as a distant mountain cliff. Then with a heave and jump he goes.
The lapwings look to have moved on. I haven’t seen them for a few days. Six buzzards mingle in one field, several more in the field opposite plus wood pigeons and pheasants. The more we build the less space nature has. I wander if the lands will have any country life left in time? Where will all the migrating end up?
A crow darts across in pursue of a raptor. This is a ferocious chase, kamikaze style. Even when the claws are shown it still carries on. The buzzard puts some effort into the wing beats and soon disappears over the horizon. But the crow chases, in denial of being behind.

8/4/13
I haven’t been down the woods as much as I would’ve like lately. The poor weather conditions making things a little tricky. Spring is yet to get underway, this could possibly mean a late nesting season.
I’ve located a handful of possible nest sites to keep an eye on. And regularly check on them. This is the first time I have ever watched a bird before, only once have I been bird watching. That was with my granddad years ago. That moment has always stayed with me, I’ve often wandered why that is?
Maybe the true answer is starting to come through like leaves are meant to bloom from a tree, with time they eventually do. I wander if life is like that for us?
I often think are the seasons linked to people more than we realise. Is it possible for a person to have a personality similar to a season? I know people who are frequently chirpy, happy, are they summer time? I’ve also met people who are in winter constantly.
From my own thoughts I would put myself in Autumn. I’m not a negative person, but neither a happy go lucky guy either. But I realise the harshness of life, I’m not naïve enough to think good things happen all the time.
An Autumn person couldn’t mix with a Spring person, or Summer with Winter, there’s too much of a difference. I use to live a life that made me a winter person. There were flashes of who I really was. Now I have found a part of me again and I can try to be as pure as possible to who I am.
This estate gives me such a chance to spread out my thoughts letting them flicker in the wind, it’s become my phrontistery.

9/4/13
A veil of dust hangs in the clouds as if a huge carpet has been beaten. I spread my wings and head out under the bypass. I’m spending too much time on the one side and need to acquaint myself with the woods on this side too.
I head into Sheepfold Wood. The Afon Eithiau runs through before catching up with the River Dee. There seems more trees down here, it feels more closed off from civilisation. A path leads me to a rock edge I look down into the drop and see scattered trees lying on the floor as if after a bomb blast. There is an unusual feel to this place, I’m familiar with the undulations of pathways and expect gaps in the trees at certain places in the other woods, but not here.
I’m not scared but more weary, the fact I haven’t a phone makes things that little bit edgy. I’ve slipped on numerous occasions and a twisting of the ankle or puncturing a lung on a broken branch is quite easily done. I’m sure darkness would descend rather quickly.
A fox meanders across the field. It’s blazon colouring of a mix of red and orange highlighting the lack of spring. He has a bouncy gait with a tail that could clean a chimney. Rabbits will be a good catch now, also rodents will start to appear more and more.
I take note of a nest in the pines, it’s flatter than the suspected buzzards nests so it could be a sparrowhawk’s? I would love to find a nest of the sparrowhawk, a bird of prey different to a buzzard, a more vicious hunter compared to a laid back approach of the raptor.
I watch a female buzzard perch on a beech branch, then she hops onto a lower one. My senses have realised she is onto something here, I dare not move. A buzzards eyes have very little lateral movement as its eyes are very rigidly built into the socket. They can’t see ‘under their nose’ and only the movement of their head allows them to find those running creatures below. In fact there eye is not far from the size of a human’s eye and both have binocular vision, though there’s is far superior.
I continue watching until the strike is made and she jumps onto her prey, the unsuspecting meal must have been having a scurry for food. The raptor flies off with its catch, going deep into the wood.
On the way round I see something I’ve never seen before. A wooden frame with a mesh covering. A magpie inside a chamber, there’s another chamber that is empty. On research I find this to be a Larsen Trap. Apparently a magpie will be paced inside to entice another magpie to fall in, there will be food and water available. Then this will enable the gamekeeper to possibly count how many songbirds are in the area.
I have to admit I wasn’t too sure about the whole process and couldn’t see how any use it is. We seem to come up with theories that bigger species have affected smaller types but if that’s the case then we wouldn’t have these smaller species alive as they would’ve been wiped out years ago when most of the British isles were wild and free and nature could dictate how it wanted.
A moment raises my hopes and beliefs as I see a bee on the way home. Spring is here!

14/4/13
The wind blows through the trees sounding like a passing train. Rain hangs high up and I pray the wind keeps it at bay. I have re-planted some of my vegetables that may have got lost to the snow. I have also dug some patches with the aim of planting more variety of potatoes.
I’ve seen crows chase buzzards regularly on these plains. Sometimes they venture into the bole of the woods, then the action is over. It’s highly frustrating for me.
But today I may have seen some evidence of what actually happens. In two different areas I come across two dead crows. One of these crows has a terrible wound to the breast area. Punctured by the force of talons. Some blood is now gluing the feathers. Maybe a fox will saunter by one evening and have a snack.
I’m wandering if one of the crows was from the other day when I watched a corvid chase a raptor over the canopies. Then moments later the buzzard came back up and flew away.
Near the bypass five buzzards have gathered, kept in the air by some hidden piece of string or so it appears. Three take off and start flying at odds with each other. Two of them grapple for several seconds before releasing, their talons testing each others nerve. But this isn’t a game, there is battle here. Maybe the onset of breeding season is now when they start to see who the dominant birds are. Who will spread their genes.

15/4/13
Today would be uneventful regarding the birds of prey. The wind is too strong blowing branches around like people waving scarves. Spring is definitely here I count six bees, three swallows and see a Peacock butterfly.
I head off into Darland Wood, with the shooting season completely gone I pray that nature appears with confidence. But I’m not entirely confident she will, estates like this are not wild but made for shooting. Engineered by man to produce a profit, or sport. Things are controlled, monitored, discussed, nothing is left to emerge that could affect the pheasant season.
I look up and see two buzzards hovering above me in the sky. Their tails fanned out, a little over half the length of their wing. A sparrowhawk’s tail is like the end of a small torch beam, this enables it to manoeuvre very quickly in crowded places like a wood. A buzzards tail fans out to help with the soaring flight.
There is different types of buzzards around the world, we have Rough - Legged , Long- legged, Augur, Jackal, Red-tailed and a White eyed buzzard. Grey- faced and Lizzard buzzard are also another two types.
In Britain there is a summer visitor bird of prey called the Honey Buzzard. Though technically they aren’t buzzards. Driven off our shores in the late nineteenth century through shootings and disturbance we now have low numbers of this beautiful visitor. It eats wasps, bees, small reptiles and grasshoppers. A lover of wasps nests they dig them out and eat the grubs that hide in the honeycomb.

18/4/13
I’ve invited a friend with me today, Chris, who is an amateur photographer. I hope to give him some moments of beauty that I see quite regularly.
You have to be patient to be a photographer, spending hours perched for that right moment. I’ve done bits myself but only of landscapes. You can catch a memory of your life, suspend a time that you witnessed.
But in typical fashion the day is quiet. We have one magical moment when walking through some pines. A buzzard is sitting on a fallen branch, taking time out in the solitude. We get to within twelve feet. Then it senses us behind and urgently flies off.
We head off to the bypass and the river. The concrete columns are huge. When your going along it you don’t comprehend the drop. But standing under makes you grasp the enormity of the fall. Cars pass over totally oblivious to us underneath.
Fishing pens are marked along the Dee. Tracks meander to other areas of the estate. I could spend hours on this estate I’m sure. Chris takes numerous photos of the concrete blocks. The clouds move and the bridge seems to be in motion.
I stand and watch the river gush downstream. A clump of pines entice you into the dark. But today I leave it.

19/4/13
I pray for a better day today. Leaves were happily shooting on branches, bees were buzzing around and some lapwings have stayed for summer.
All the fields are now a pea green. A kestrel hovers over a field edge. Spending around ten seconds before nudging up the field and doing the same again.
A fox trots elegantly across a field. Sniffing at the ground, hoping for a scent of something to eat. I’m not sure if the gamekeeper would do anything if he saw him down here like this. I’ve been down here a couple of times late evening and he always appears out of nowhere.
Twenty buzzards stand with talking distance of each other on a field. Then around a dozen of them take to the skies. I watch as they circle, float, soar, skate and slide.
I feel as if I’m in a dream. They know I’m there but they aint bothered, this is a friendly flight full of catwalk expressions. They carry this on for maybe ten minutes. It’s all about finding a mate for the mating season.
In the distance Para gliders take off from Fron mountain and there in he sky is man and bird. Gliding on thermals.
I’ve seen buzzards being aggressive to each other, usually when a male gets close to someone else’s partner. But on these occasions there is no hate or aggression. It’s as if they have social gatherings. Even though they are all competing for territory and spreading their genes they gather round and swirl in each others trails.
I envy these birds. Human society is not always like this. It’s the thought that is the problem in our society. Someone at some stage must have thought about racism for it to exist. Perception, child abuse, ageism, sexism and social order exist because we let them and also thought them.

30/4/13
Work had been tough lately, giving me aching bones and muscle. I haven’t wanted to go out. I was getting depressed. The estate has changed me as a person in a matter of months. I feel whole again, the missing pieces of the jigsaw have finally fitted.
There are days when I struggle to go to work. The thought of leaving here is too much. I’d rather sit in peace and watch nature show me how to live.
I head off to the pond that sits in the middle of the farm fields. Last year we had a pair of swans that had cygnets. But a fox must have had two of them or they starved as I saw them dead lying in the grass like deflated bagpipes. It was a sorry sight.
I haven’t really checked this area seeing as I regularly walk the dog on this patch of land. There is a big area untouched between hayfields, it always seems wet like a soggy car sponge.
Swallows fly around in loops I haven’t seen since I started double joined writing in juniors. With all the pond flies and dragonflies this is a good area for food.
Out of nowhere eight, nine then ten buzzards fly away from the bushes and trees. I even get to within ten feet of a perched one and watch its legs dangle like armchair cover tassels.
Two swans slowly paddle near the edge their white feathers glowing against the murky water. I hope these two have more young this year. The raptors are soaring now after being disturbed. I spot a big nest on a small island in the middle of the pond. Perfect site for privacy. But can easily be identified if you were to watch the comings and goings.
Lapwings pop up into the air as I come across the plain. Calling to each other of an intruder. Dust flickers against the hills lit up by the rays of the sun. Winter is now an echo of pastimes. Barley is growing well giving the view a yellow tinge, hay is also shooting, finally released by the frost’s grip.
Crossing the track I head into a small byway path that could lead you to the pines or the oaks. I’m going to call it oak tree path as there is a huge oak that’s been felled into pieces. It sits like some hibernating bear. The shrubs cover it well and daylight hardly ever penetrates. It must have rotted from the inside as the bark flakes off from the sides.

MAY
5/5/13
Today is so beautiful as a blue sky glossed over earth. A slight breeze stroked my skin, alerting the senses of touch. Blossom trees flickered white petals. Reminding me of snowflakes that had fallen only a month or so before. Garlic and primrose grouped together between the oaks and beech. Bluebells danced in large quantities. Colour was here and a smile came across my face. Leaves had corked overnight as the sun shone on these lime green panels.
But there is a down side to spring. The low numbers of buzzards had caught my attention, there were times like today that I will only see a couple flying around. Some have obviously paired up and set off to old territories. Apart from these social gatherings that I occasionally see I rarely see them.
The woods have noise, singing and bobbing flight of small birds. I’m starting to worry though. I definitely have to expand my knowledge and range of walking this estate to keep in search of buzzards.
Nesting season is late as spring is late but I must catch a nest being used. There are locations that I know of that will determine my wanderings. But I hope what Cyril said a few weeks back isn’t true ‘ When summer comes they all disappear’

7/5/13
Another sunny day and there was an extra buzz in my step. I set off early before the nucleus of our weather blasted red heat across my face. I can tolerate the cold weather far better than the warm. Once I get hot I find it hard to cool down.
I check Round Wood to see of any activity in nest building. I have slim hopes of finding a nest but if I watch the buzzards regular flight paths then maybe they could lead me too one. I’ve also got to think like a buzzard. Where would I go to nest for this season? There are many variables to consider. Human interruption, noise, pollution, corvids, weather exposure and abundance of food.
I love this small wood. Mature oak trees stand proud and full of vigour. They’re old enough to have a presence but young enough to still be growing strong. The only annoyance is the bypass that runs alongside.
I wander if the estate manager would allow me to put up nest boxes and seed feeders? Imagine what I could do to the numbers of birds? I think about the variety we have in our garden, it’s getting on for twenty types. We could end up attracting new birds to the estate. Maybe rare winter migrants?
Snapping twigs and rustling leaves as I walk doesn’t make me inconspicuous. I’m still learning the ways of being a nature watcher. Everything has to be delicately touched. You have to think you’re on a submarine in enemy waters during the Cold War. The slightest mistake could be deadly.
There has been a pair of buzzards hovering over this area lately, surveying the grounds for a nest? I hope so. Buzzards nests are bulky, lined with twigs and fresh leaves. The eggs are bluish white coloured and can have up to four laid. Though I won’t disturb a nest if found it’s worth noting what colour they will be.

8/5/13
My favourite weather today, damp air created by a slight drizzle and warm rays. It brings a freshness to my lungs. I watch a buzzard hover over the split tree path. As if on a yo yo it drops itself before springing back up. It repeats this twice as I quickly make a dart to see what it’s watching.
Soggy mud and sun baked edges I go careful not to slip or create a noise. The buzzard is still above the trees as I try my best not to get noticed. The growing canopies are starting to make my view harder now. The window of scope is more acute.
The raptor has something in its sight but I can’t see what. We’re both on hold, suspended by the next manoeuvre. As if in a game of chess and you know where you want to move but have to wait for your opponent to move first.
Then as if released by some natural force it arrows down onto the floor. I’m down the side of the bank and rush up to see what it has. The buzzard rises and flies away. Covered by green leaves and branches I’m unable to catch sight to see if it was successful or not. My heart races, caught up in the world of hunting. I walk with a dream of having my own buzzard, sending to hunt on fields and hills.

11/5/13
Showers would flicker on and off for the whole weekend. But I was off and couldn’t wait to get out. I have two days of uninterrupted walking, searching and footle wanderings.
I head off under the bypass crossing today with the purpose of seeing where this track finishes up. New beginnings are essential to life, pathways are a great exponent of this. I think that’s why I love mountains so much. Even if you climb the same one all your life you will find something new to look at. It’s as if a curtain has been opened and given you a bigger view.
A slight wind blows across the grass, shaking them incessantly. They waver as flames on a candle. Something as weak as a blade of grass can be trampled, stamped, cut, snowed on, kicked, and flooded but it still reaches for the sun. The only purpose in its being.
Crescent moon shaped wings of the swallow dart lowly across the fields. Sweeping up any prey it can find. Pheasants linger in small numbers. I’m not sure if the gamekeeper will bother with these now? I’d have thought he would’ve had some of them rounded up?
I come to the end of the track and follow the tributaries into the woods. Options become available from here. The bypass creates a signal of noise and danger over the hedge way. I look into the pines and see a marvellous photo opportunity. A pine tree has been bent over so the tip touches the floor. Possibly weighted by the snow? It now looks as if ready to catapult any unwelcome visitor.
I take the lead down into the trees and start to realise where I am. I’ve come to the crossroad of tracks that lead along the river and the bypass itself. The big concrete pillars intimidating the woods and forest plantations.
Two buzzards hover in the sky above, I watch until the wind and sunrays make it difficult to continue. Keeping my eye out for any activity of nest building I walk with purpose. Scanning all oaks and beech even the pines. Though I would expect sparrowhawk’s to be more in them than buzzards.
Later on in the evening I take Jasper for a walk on the field. I instantly see three buzzards in the air when one of them attacks the intruder or harasser. It’s a striking blow to the body as the victim flies away. He must have been trying it on with the female.
I’m wandering if this is their territory? With the nest in the middle of the pond or even in the group of trees that sit at the edge of the estate? I have reason to keep an eye on this patch.

16/5/13
The garden is up and coming, with peas and beans finally shooting. Onions and potatoes are also bursting green shoots. The snow had caused a lot of disruption but my prayers may have been answered. I suppose you can never underestimate the power of seed.
Orange tip butterflies, brimstone and peacocks are all fluttering about. Adding life to my garden, also paranoia as the cabbage white is yet to be seen. These are incredibly destructive to allotments.
The pond is my destination again, I’m seeing a bit of activity in the air around here. Buzzards soaring, circling and hunting. They could be building a nest somewhere close.
I’ve concentrated so much on the woods etc that nearly on my doorstep could be a nest! This shows my lack of experience. Sometimes we think going further away from home will give us our best moments but it’s not always the case.
I watch two buzzards fly over the fields, checking every blade of grass for movement. Then as a complete surprise a buzzard jumps out of a tree on the edge of the field and attacks one of the buzzards. A chase ensues and I watch from the corner of the field before the pursuer is happy they have gone far enough and returns back.
These are signs of territory. Their must be a nest somewhere around here. A second encounter in a matter of days give me hope of finding a nest. I haven’t seen this sort of behaviour over a particular area yet, but this is looking good.

20/5/13
I only have one aim this afternoon, check the farm fields again. As soon as I sit a buzzard comes out of the oaks and saunters across the plain. Canada geese mingle on the edge of the barren land, lapwings sit near by. The buzzard makes its way across before the lapwings jump up and harass the intruder. They give chase as the raptor passes flicking up around the bird of prey like ash on a fire.
The buzzard eventually shows its claws but the lapwings carry on. Then once happy they have pushed it far enough they come back. Their wings flapping like towels on a wind blown washing line.
The hay is now about a foot tall. It won’t be long before it’s too thick and high for me too walk through. I carry on around the edge, looking up at every passing tree. There are some beautiful oaks around here. Big thick meandering branches.
I see a footpath through the trees and go under the fence. The road passes by on the other side of the wall which wouldn’t make for a quiet nest.
I’ve seen the buzzard perch in these trees, fly away and also too them.

28/5/13
Wind blows with an urgency to be somewhere else. Rain hangs around like a nosey neighbour. Sightings of buzzards are getting less and less, like summer holidays away from your school mates. I hope to catch some action today.
Even the corvus are quiet, wood pigeons sit in the treetops as if waiting on cue to perform. Seagulls occasionally fly in from the landfill site. Lapwings jump into the air on any disturbance.
The late spring has upset many things in the natural world. Snow in April isn’t good for any reason. Mating season is surely delayed but I don’t underestimate the birds. I believe they will succeed even if late springs become a regular feature. Adaptability is an underestimated process.
I’m wandering if the lapwings have actually laid eggs or they are in mating season? Is it possible for the buzzard that keeps flying over this piece of field checking to see if there is eggs? Lapwings lay eggs on the ground, in a spoon shaped bowl. Maybe that’s why they harassed a raptor the other day?
A buzzard flies over the swamp and is soon pursued by two crows. It’s a frantic chase where the buzzard looks to be fearful of its life. The crows are venomous in their chase and push the bird of prey over the hedge and along the track to the small bridge under the bypass.
I put a speed on and follow quickly. The two crows appear out of nowhere but I don’t see the buzzard. I survey the area but nothing pops out at me. Everything normal, maybe the buzzard actually flew under the bridge? That would have been a beautiful sight if it did especially as it’s only about twelve feet high.

JUNE
2/6/13
Nesting season will be under way now. The temperature is creeping higher and leaves are creating a lot of cover for the birds. I have to be patient, committed and a bit lucky. Nearly all my senses will be needed to find a nest especially eye sight and hearing. I am being tested but hope for success.
There isn’t much left of the estate to search, possibly along the river and the pines under the bypass could be explored. But I weigh up all my experiences and believe there has to be a nest this side. Darland Wood or Hopwood Wood must be an area for them to mate. Especially after seeing those two big nests in that vicinity.
I get close to the main house on the estate, where the family that owned the estate Williams-Wynn once lived. They had a powerful influence back in their day until they eventually moved away just after the war.
The house stands tall when coming from Chirk and you can’t ignore its presence on the landscape. It did become a private school called Lindisfarne, but this eventually went bankrupt. The house is now luxury flats.
I was pleasantly surprised at the view from walking up the track. I could see well over the Llangollen valley, Llantysilio mountain, and Fron mountain. I should do this more often. It does give me a better view of watching buzzards flight and any regular patterns that they show.
The gamekeepers house sits quietly, hugged by the trees. It could possibly be in the middle of the estate. I love views, something takes over my focus and I can gladly stand just looking at the world before me.
I wander how close we are to nature? Is it possible that for each species they display a certain emotion that could be attributed to a human personality? A female tarantula will eat the male, does this show a dominant female mind? Are ants the expression of grafting? Are male lions chauvinistic? Only showing any sign of life when an another male gets close to his pride. Would this mean they want to protect their easy life? Knowing the female will do the bulk of the work.

3/6/13
I look out over Darland Wood and spot a pair of buzzards, it’s the first time in ages I have seen a pair dangling in the sky. The male drops down like a ball released from a hand. He does this constantly as the female soars above the trees.
Then putting his wings into his body he appears like an arrow head before falling towards the female. She spins over and shows her claws. The male moves away and back to the clouds.
I head off to Darland for a closer look hoping something can lead me to somewhere. The pair have glided off as I enter the trees, a dead female pheasant lies on the soil. Minus a leg and most of its feathers. Possibly a fox kill? But surely they would carry it off?
Stichwort and garlic are prevalent down here, adding white petals to the green shrubs and grass. I’m wandering if the two buzzards are the ones from the winter? I regularly spotted two buzzards over this wood. They come back in calling to each other. I instantly find a spot to sit and watch.
Time passes before I carry on my walk, the stream flows gently heading towards the Dee. I look up at the row of nests in the pines, then turn to see a nest in a beech above the stream. It’s quite a big one and I wander how long it has been here for. I’ve done countless walks past this tree.
Then as I glance away a buzzard glides in but the instant she sees me her whole body turns as if evading an obstruction or being pulled back by a rope. She calls frantically and flies away. I take note to move on home. Is that the nest? Why did she call so urgently? What made her spin away so quickly?
So many questions enter my head that I promise to come back. Excitement wants me to go back first thing but I have to be careful. One I don’t want to disturb the nest and two I have to find a way of watching without being caught.

7/6/13
Tomatoes are finally growing on the plants. I’ve done tumblers for the first time. They are for hanging baskets and cascade down aching to be picked. Peas and beans are also showing shoots. Has my year finally started!
I have a buzz in my step. It’s possible I have come across a nest, my heart wants to get out and bounce there first. But I need to be careful, my whereabouts must be ghost like. There can be no relaxed attitude or going in snapping twigs and branches. I must be stealth like.
Making my way around I walk past the stream and stone bridge. Constantly checking the whereabouts of either parent. The pines up the slope look a perfect opportunity to sit and watch.
Apparently the Forestry Commission bought the land off the estate and took down woodlands then planted pine trees. I don’t suppose it will be long before they come one day and start cutting them down again.
If there is one plus of a pine forest its the floor is soft from all the dropped needles down the years. It feels spongy in places. I spot the nest through the trees and slowly make my way. Pine trees aren’t the thickest so my movements can’t be hidden by some thick oak.
It’s so silent here that any wrong move could trigger a response. I’m not sure what the gamekeeper would say if he saw me here. Surely I’m not doing anything wrong?
Standing behind a pine I look at the nest through my binoculars. The vision isn’t right so I need to adjust quickly. Once done I look at the nest and a buzzard looks straight at me. She calls frantically and instantly flies out the nest.
I’m busted on my first attempt! But this is definitely a nest in use. I check it over with my glass but see nothing. The female isn’t too happy so I make my way quickly. Determined to come back tomorrow with a better approach.

8/6/13
It is a beautiful morning. A baked landscape from early sunrise. Floating dust can be seen from the sunrays beaming through the gaps in the trees.
I enter the pines with stealth footsteps. The nest is high up a beech but because of the pine plantation being on a higher level I am nearly level with the nest.
At first I couldn’t locate the nest, paranoia kicked in. Was yesterday just a dream? After all these walks and wanderings had my mind given me what I wanted? Feeding my desires with false illusion.
Then the movement that will transform my whole summer. The female leaves the nest. She glides down into the wood. As soon as she does the male comes in and circles the nest, gently calling. I have no idea whether the chicks have hatched or even if eggs have been laid. I would presume the eggs have been.
Joy swims through my skeleton like an overflowing river. I want to cheer, roar in delight. After walking around for the last few weeks searching for a nest I’ve finally achieved it.
I believe life is a parallel existence the life you live and the life you have to live. It had been tough, especially when they just seemed to disappear but here we are in the joys of nature.
Work would be this afternoon but I didn’t want to go, surely this is a good enough reason to have off? Today after striving for something I genuinely believed in I have success.
I stay for three hours, the female comes back to the nest only once, but she is never too far away. The male comes back occasionally, circling high up before calling to his better half.
The female must have caught something as she bent forward to feed her chick(s) and her tail popped up like a humpback whale coming for air.

11/6/13
Drizzle is giving a moist air to the walk. The temperature had dropped from last week. I had come down here last night but left it a little too late. The only thing I saw was the mothers tail in the nest.
A scattering of feathers greeted me on the corner. Must have been really fresh as it was untainted by mud and rain. Chainsaws raged through the wood. They must be cutting trees for the sawmill. The noise horrible in the meditative atmosphere of breeze blowing leaves.
The mother sits in the nest. Her brown back keeping the offspring warm. The likely hood of there being two chicks are slim but until I know for definite I can’t presume there isn’t.
I sit tight against the pine. Resting on a fallen branch just thick enough for me to balance on. I could already feel the cramp in my legs. Pins and needles would surely fill my feet. It was the movements when this became unbearable where I will have to be careful.
The female fluffed up her wings and dropped from the nest. Gliding into the trees like some programmed arrow. Then minutes later she perches on the highest tree here. You could say it was a valley like terrain. I was on higher ground in the pines and the female went to the other side which again is on high ground.
It was the highest point in the wood. She calls to her partner. Straining her vocal chords with each effort. Then she tilts her head to each side as if listening with each ear for a response. This happens for nearly the whole time I wait.
The male never returns and the nest is vacant of movement. The female has a beautiful chain of white feathers across her chest. Giving her a royal look. I hope the male returns soon.

12/6/13
I watch the nest with pride and honour. I have never been in such a privilege position. I didn’t think nature could be so kind to me. It is a typical British summer’s day. Dreary and dull.
The male is back, keeping a close eye on any intruders. It looks like he will do the most hunting. While the mother stays on the nest, occasionally jumping off.
The pines are quiet, there doesn’t seem to be much going on regarding other birds. I spot wood pigeons flying past and the odd blackbird but nothing in terms of variety and quantity.
The female balances on the highest perch again. Calling to her partner across the canopies. The wind is strong and will sway her too much at times where she will have to fold out her wings for steadiness.
I saw something yesterday but didn’t take too much notice, a blackbird near the nest. And today he is back, though I’m not sure why? He gets close to the bottom and hops up branches. Maybe he is picking at any loose twigs for his own nest? Or there could be insects available to him. He doesn’t seem bothered that this is a bird of prey’s nest and carries on hopping around the bottom of it.
A movement catches my eye and there in front of me, a squirrel. The closest I have ever been to one. He doesn’t seem too bothered and flicks his bushy tail while bounding over twigs and branches.

14/6/13
Rain is too much today. Bucket loads seemingly dropped from clouds. Puddles grow and grow. I am pleased for the garden but I’m thinking it’s getting too much now.
But my patience and soaking will be worth the effort in the end. The mother is back on the nest after a hunt and as she moves I see the first glimpse of a chick. I presume it’s the head as a white piece of fluff moves in the nest. The mother taking care as she moves too.
I’m delighted to see the chick for the first time. My binoculars don’t move from my eyes as the beauty of life takes over me. Rain lashes down and you can see the mother is damp. The brown feathers taking on a darker tint that usual.
The mother flies off leaving the sibling to fend for itself. I wander where the blackbird is? For the time I was sat the mother didn’t go back to the nest only calling from her high chair in the trees.
I look up the pine I’m sat by and realise how straight a tree they are. The branches seem to interlock creating a latch work affect above my head.

16/6/13
The male spots me on my way round and both parents circle high up. The female takes to the elms and calls out with her warning sign. I feel horrible for being so stupid. Sending fear through their world must have been awful.
I am left with two choices, either sit and hope they calm down or go home. I decided to stay. Hoping they will circle enough and be pleased I have moved on.
The male goes off in search of food while the female glides through the trees. She is never more than a few minutes away, guarding her offspring.
I’m usually spending three hours down here but rarely do I see them bringing food back. It really is an eye opener to see them struggling so much. Especially when you see how many rodents are around and rabbits. But then when you’re nearly a mile up in the air it’s not exactly easy to catch them is it?
When I decided to watch them for a whole year and note their lives I had images of them flying off with rabbits in their talons. Fighting in the sky, with feathers being ripped from the skin. Attacking pheasants from branches. But I haven’t seen anything, in fact quite the opposite. My perception has been completely wrong.

17/6/13
I make the decision to make some sort of hide. Standing erect against a pine for three hours is hard going. A fallen branch lies in between some pines. Resting on it I have a decent view of the nest.
Looking around I see new shoots and go round collecting them. Some are a good three feet high and will be perfect for when I sit down, hiding me like some sniper.
There’s branches on the floor and I prop them up against a low branch. I will have to refresh it when the leaves die but that won’t take long. Resting on the log which has a slight bow enabling a cushioned feel I sit back and rest. Why didn’t I think of this straight away?
I could easily fill a bag with food and books and spend a whole day down here. The quietness of the trees, though I’m not a fan of pine tree plantations, its still natural, it’s still an extension of ourselves.
An owl hoots behind me, somewhere in the wood on the other side. It’s twenty past seven. A darkness descends on the pines, sunlight being squeezed out of the lands. Another day fading into the past.

18/6/13
As soon as I sit down I feel different, like I am watching instead of spying. The female drops from the nest like a parachutist and enters the woods. I sit back relaxed.
Today I will hear a new sound by the female. As she perches on her high branch she calls out ‘AAHH’ ‘AAHH’ then she gives the usual KEE-OW sound. I can only presume this is to let the sibling know her mother is around. She will do this sparingly for the whole time.
I know the alarm call of high pitched hammerings quickly fired from her voice box. But this new tone gave off a more contented feel to the day. Obviously the chick is big enough now to be able to hear her mother?
The hide is working as the mother swoops across the trees and past the pines. I sit like a wax work. The male come back but only briefly before flying back out again. Searching for food, he has no time to rest up.

21/6/13
The mothers tail sticks out like a surfers board on a high wave. There is a quietness this morning as if I had just missed something, my subconscious aware of what had just gone on and rippled in fear.
I don’t get too see the male at all today. His days now long; most probably perched patiently on a branch somewhere deep.
A jay screeches through the woods, what a beautiful bird but what an awful sound! A magpie clicks his voice possibly laughing at my receding hair line.
Then a noise I wasn’t expecting, an owl. At first I thought I was hearing things but there it is like a draught blowing under the living room door.
After sitting for an hour I decide to go for a walk and see if I can find the male hunting. I am shocked by what I get to see. I haven’t been through some of these paths for ages but what a transformation. I don’t see any tyre tracks, or mud showing recent footprints. The grass and shrubs are a minimum two feet tall.
I stand still for a moment in awe of the green especially after the dull brown of winter. For a second I realise I’m lost. All the trees are the same, pathways gone, points of memory lost. The only thing that allows me to know where I am is the bank leading to the farm fields. Otherwise everything has been swallowed up by summers growth.
This is why I prefer autumn and spring seasons. There is a mix of colours, fading into each other like milk poured into tea before the mixture creates a dominant shade. How the world must have been like this all over once upon a time. With every step you take is a risk, predators lurked in the undergrowth. If I was too fall now and be unable to get back up I could be lost for days. Slowly decaying into the soil. Becoming another part of the landscape. Fertilising the earth with calcium and proteins.

26/6/13
I sit on the branch and feel the spring in its bow. A female blackbird hops about on the path. There is a path that runs along the pines to the pheasant area. Seven foot tall wire fencing with wooden posts creating a jail for the pheasants. I see them scattering as I walk through, like naughty children on a playground.
Not much is happening until I notice the female surge in and take place on a branch. She isn’t there long before flying off and that I thought was it.
But searching the trees with my binoculars I come across a beautiful sight. On her usual perch the mother is stood but with her back to the sun. I have to make sure I’m seeing this right as she has her wings outstretched like an opened umbrella. There her wings, golden brown, act like solar panels.
At first I had to double take to make the feathers out but there she is sunbathing on the highest point available. The mass of feathers is amazing, walnut, toffee, chocolate mix blending to create a mosaic of wood camouflage.

JULY
1/7/13
July comes into my life like some long lost family member. The days are long and warm, even when it rains you are warm enough. The sun will be at its highest baking the sloppy mud from the snow. Hope always comes with sun. No wander ancient civilizations built their lives around it.
I haven’t been for a few days, giving the nest some space and not scaring the parents. The nest sat still, vacant as an old church. The chick must be lying still, content to let the parents bring the food. I wander how small it is? To be so high up and left to the elements, how nature has evolved to let creatures grow in such conditions.
I rarely see the buzzards anywhere else now. I never see them circling the fields, or gliding across the woods. Their whole time is being perched on a branch, watching every moment for movement.
Last year I noticed three buzzards over this wood and its only been since around May that they’ve become two. Was the third buzzard last years sibling? It’s a long time to be with the parents. This wood must have produced a lot of young down the years.
The mother comes back and calls to her partner. The male as usual doesn’t appear. Instead stays deep in the woods, waiting for his kill.

6/7/13
I sit down on the fallen log. The wood sagged slightly from my bodyweight. It is a nice warm morning, even the bark is free from damp. I check the trees for any sign of the parents.
A movement takes my eye. I zoom in on the nest and there for the first time, the chick! White fluffy head and staggering walk similar to a baby in a sand pit. The chick walks across the nest totally oblivious to me watching.
The wings are grey with a black stripe. The whole body is covered in fluff. I can’t say if it’s male or female. But I watch in awe. The chick dawdles across twigs and other material. Any wind now could take it straight out the nest.
I want to go over there and hold it for a moment. How can such a small thing be so at ease? When you think about the way humans are brought into the earth. The chick is maybe tennis ball size and look at it! All the confidence in the world to get up and discover.
No sign of the parents as the chick goes back into the bowl of the nest. I smile knowing that I have just witnessed something truly stunning.

8/7/13
A truck rumbles through the woods. Log felling is underway at another site on the estate. It’s metal skeleton looking foreign to the wood. I frown at the noise of such a beast.
I spread out my picnic blanket hoping for some comfort from this log. Pins and needles throb my feet. A numbness goes down my legs as I sit tight.
The mother flies in and stands on the edge of the nest. The chick pops up and then the mother passes something from its mouth. She is feeding her chick.
I sit tight and watch intently. Something as powerful as a bird of prey being so gentle, I would never have imagined it. But there in front of me feeding time. It’s a poignant moment. For me as well as the chick.
On my way back from the nest I see a dead mole on the track. Its legs and hands out stretched. Maybe it had a heart attack doing star jumps?

11/7/13
The rain has stopped we haven’t had any for awhile now. The once muddy paths now flaked to dust. Green leaf shields basked in the sunshine. The wood is library quiet.
My peas and beans are shooting straight up. Flowers dangle joyfully. I am constantly walking back and too with watering cans but it doesn’t harm. I’m sure the British weather will soon make up for it.
Neither parents pay a visit today in the three hours I’m down here. Though I am treated to ten minutes from the chick. The head now a candy floss fluff. The chick waddles across the nest getting braver with every step. You can just sense the bird has the urge to just fly.
Then the chick lies down resting its head on the edge of the nest. I watch with delight as the black eyes slowly close. And there it stays for a couple of minutes.

14/7/13
The parents circles high up calling to one another in the process. I think I have just heard a new call from the mother. Every so many seconds she pings it out like a stone from a catapult. Similar to a Jackdaws sound.
I keep still as I watch the nest. The male goes on his way from a branch. Hunting time again. He has no other option in life. No other purpose. The catalyst is to provide for his offspring. There is no emotion in killing when you’re a bird of prey.
The chick wouldn’t be seen today. But I love just sitting down here. Tranquillity and fresh air, goes into my body and mind, refreshing the whole eco system that gives me life.

17/7/14
Everything looks the same today, unassuming and quiet. It is half past three and the sun is starting to fall behind the horizon. The humidity is high though and sweat drops off me like solder off a soldering iron.
As I sit down and check out the nest and surrounding trees a movement takes my breath away. I zoom in on the nest and at first I think its another bird is in fact the chick. How big has it gone? They must be really getting some grub inside this bird. It is about pigeon size now. And walks across the nest instead of waddling.
I am truly amazed at the speed of growth but why should I be? My inexperience is showing here. This is a bird of prey and in the wild. It needs to grow quickly. I would think if any crows knew about this nest they would most probably try and attack it.
A brown line goes across its abdomen area. The beak is yellow like a butter yellow on toast. The chick turns around and shows black wings, with white specks cascading down each one like a waterfall in the distance. The head is still fluffy and gives the bird a gentle look. Though I wouldn’t like to go too near, surely the talons are growing too.
I am delighted and wish for lighter binoculars as my deltoids ache from lactic acid building up. The mother comes back but only momentarily and glides back out to the woods. Leaving me to keep watch on the chick.

21/7/13
Rain has come down this morning. I am glad for it feeding my vegetables natural sustenance. The air is fresh, I wander if its similar to what we experience when coming out of the womb?
Both parents circle high up as I make my round. I move into the trees trying my best not to get seen. I am now becoming a tree.
Over the last few months I have realised how in tune nature really is. We are suppose to be a part of it but I don’t feel like that at all. Even feeling an outsider at times. As if I am in the way of things. There is a connection, a stitching of how life works with each other.
We have cut trees down, polluted rivers, introduced foreign species, planted pine trees to replace, killed off species and built cities, no wander I feel an outsider.
I sit down and check out the nest, its not long before there is movement. Wings flap up like two cellar doors and there as if on cue the chick.
In four days the chick has got bigger. The wings are now fading to a brown size. With two black patches on top of its head. It seems sturdier on its feet and walks to the edge of the nest. Most probably dying to let go of its inhibitions and fly away.
The claws are now yellow. Keeping a firm grip on the twigs. The chick turns to the side and flaps its wings, I thought for a moment it might fly as the feet nearly leave the branch. Maybe its teasing itself like a man revving his new car before he passes his test.
The dash of brown on its chest had now submerged into the grey down of its coat. The feathers taking over its body like wild mint in a flower bed.
For a moment we look at each other. I wander if the eye sight is good enough to make me out? The once fresh leaves I had put on my hide have now curled like fingers catching a ball. The energy sucked out of them as they crumble. The chick heads back into the nest satisfied in showing me some more progress. I look to the sky and see the silent in coming of nimbostratus.

23/7/13
I have just realised as I head to the nest that every step I take is on a curved ball. Every step I take is forward. Any other shape and I would eventually come to a stop. Does this mean we must keep moving on, moving forward?
At the nest site the chick flapped its wings. It would only come out briefly today. I notice its chest area is darker again. The two brown patches on its head are now one patch.
The chick lies down and looks like a submerging submarine. Last nights rain may have had some effect on the nest. It must be really damp in there.
The mother called from her perch high up on the beech. The usual kee-ow followed by the Ah! Ah! noise. She is letting her baby know she isn’t far away. The leaves on the trees are zealous in their expression. Camouflaging the nest even more as I wait patiently like a cricket umpire.

25/7/14
I get a glimpse of the chick when I first sit down but that is all I have. With spring being late the chick won’t have much of a summer flight. Near enough going into autumn when she finally leaves.
Autumn is getting closer, you can sense summer is thinking about leaving. The nights are starting to draw in. How depressing does that sound? It’s amazing when I was a child summer seemed so long and hot. Everything seems better when you look back.
The owl calls out. I have heard this owl several times in the day down here. Just an occasional call out. Last night a male Tawny owl was calling from the pines by our house. They are literally twenty feet away from our abode. And in the wood at the back was the female. Beautiful sounds.
Pins and needles eat away at my senses. The pain is getting unbearable. I move my feet slowly and hope not to make too much of a sound. Then a splattering of jingle catches my attention.
I look around me and wander what it is. At first I think it is rain drops coming down. Then I see what it is. Long tail tits have come in abundance hopping around each tree. Great tits have also come in to have a look. They all flitter about the bark on the pines and check the shrubs. It’s an amazing episode, lasting about ten minutes. The pitter patter of their claws on bark.

28/7/13
Heavy rain last night has made puddles on the road. Leaves bow from the weight and horse hooves stamp the mud. I am walking steadily then slip! Down I go. I haven’t fallen over for years and I instantly smile. I lie in sloppy and protruding stones. I’m glad no one is with me.
The chick lies in the nest its wings like armour on a battlefield. The size difference is now evident. I’m beginning to think it’s a female as they are bigger than males.
A Jay screeches through the trees. Three crows bark to one another as they pass over head. Rain clouds prevent any sunlight today and hang around like uninvited guests.
The chick wakes up and stands. How only a couple of weeks ago I felt sorry for her. Being just a ball of fluff in an exposed nest. Looking at her today she is nearly adult size.
Her face is like a meerkats. Black around the eyes with a cement colour of fluff around her face. White specks cover her chest with a brown background.
I moved slightly and she caught the movement straight away. staring straight at me as I leant against the pine. Her senses homing in on any change to her view.

AUGUST
1/8/13
The parents circle above me calling to each other. There is a slight wind today and it blows raindrops off the leaves and onto the muddy earth.
When I get to the nest I am instantly amazed. A light coming through the gaps in the trees shines on the nest like some lighthouse at sea. I scan the nest but see nothing but then a form catches my attention. I look to the right and there standing like a doorman, the chick. It’s out the nest!
The feathers are now fully formed on its body except the head where some grey still lingers like rain cloud in a morning sky. She is out and about and it hits me that soon she will be gone.
About six weeks ago I found this nest. Though it’s quite a long time and many hours just sat here patiently it all seems like its ending very quickly.
Similar to human life, the sad things seem to linger for ages. Eating away at your memory and daily thoughts. But the good things are gone before you realise.
I feel teary and poignant. Soon she will fly off and only see me as a threat, danger or through fear. I’m the enemy to her. I want to tell her I’m no danger, leave a note in the nest. For the last few weeks my life has been great. This chick doesn’t realise how much she has given me. I feel a part of her life, a distant uncle.
Watching her develop from a ball of fluff to this incredible buzzard. A bird of prey. I go to bed tonight with hopes of seeing her first flight.

5/8/13
A visit to Snowdonia has energised me. I haven’t been since March. I was starting think the area had left me behind. Leaving me cocooned in a world of concrete and ism.
A freshness covered my face as soon as I entered the woods. Natures breath caressed my skin, welcoming me back for more. I felt wanted being down here.
The chick stood on the rim of the nest. Head down like it had been told off by its parents before they set off for work. She is now fully clothed in a brown coat. This is a walnut colour and gives her excellent camouflage against the branches.
I stand and lean against a pine tree. A slight breeze went across my face. The branches move slightly and the buzzard goes with the wind. I’m now calling her a buzzard! She stands with those powerful talons for grip.
The mother patrols the sky above. Circling like some security helicopter. I don’t know whether to leave or stay until the moment came. I really want to see the chick finally set off. That moment of seeing your child go to school on the first day.
I head back through the pines for home. An hour just sat watching was so quick. I couldn’t believe it. Three hours went by like half hour some days. I don’t understand people when they say time is slow, or time is going quick. Some people seem to be pleased that time goes quick for them. Then moan when they get old too quickly!
Live each day. I’m in a beautiful position in life where I look back at each month and ask myself if I have done enough. It sounds simple but is so rewarding.
As I come to the main track a bird flies onto a log on the floor. I stop immediately. On looking what it is I see a female sparrowhawk. She stands there preening herself. I can’t move. I have never been this close to one before. Then just as I start to analyse her she pops her head up looks at me and flies away completely startled.

10/8/13
It is a dull day. One of those days of reflection. Unfortunately a sad day. I sometimes wander if the earth has mood swings, or reflective moments. It’s quite plausible considering the weather. Our biggest misunderstanding of the earth is that it is actually alive.
Sometimes when I walk down here I have a sense of welcome. In woods alongside rivers up mountains there are times when I walk through heaven. A feeling goes through me where my life is at its zenith. And there isn’t money insight.
The chick walks along the branch. Her height is most probably set. There is good strength in her legs. But she is missing something, something I never saw the other day. Similar to a water carrier without water, she is missing that fullness, muscle.
Every now and then she will flick out her wings. As if testing they work. Buzzards are known for there wing strength. Though not for speed but for carrying and grabbing.
The sun shines through the leaves and shines on her giving her the look of autumn leaves stuck together like a mosaic.

14/8/13
As soon as I get to the nest I know there is something missing. It looks like the chick has finally gone. I sit and check the nest out. Hoping for some movement. But nothing. Usually if the chick is there you will see the bulge of her wings in the nest.
There didn’t seem any sign so I took the chance to check the woods. I couldn’t see the chick going too far out initially. The mother called over the trees but I couldn’t see any sign of her with the green leaves preventing any view. I wandered if she was calling her chick?
It’s only just hit me that this is most probably it. I will never see her again like I have been doing. I walk through the woods and hope for a movement. Has she finally left me to go to her own world?
Two male great spotted woodpeckers argue by a tree. I see them hopping up and down a branch then squaring up to each other. A tree creeper walks up an oak. A sparrowhawk rises out of some felled logs and into the trees. That flash of blue catching my eye. The loggers have been down here again.
Pheasants are now back in the woods. I spot the odd escapee running for cover as I walk round. The female buzzard still calls from the trees convincing me the chick is here somewhere. Probably near the nest. I continue round and make plans to come back tomorrow.

15/8/13
The nest is empty, and sticks stuck out reaching for the branches they once connected too.
I didn’t know where the chick could be. The parents weren’t around either. The last few weeks the birds have become woodland birds secretive and lonesome. But there was a purpose to this, to feed their chick. Now they are gone, only time will tell if they are still around here.
A buzzard flies through the trees as I walk on. I try to catch a sight but it’s gone. Hopefully it’s the chick. Pheasants scurry for cover, I see one dead by the fence. It’s head ripped off and pink flesh showing through the breast bone. Ferns are now four feet high and bend into the track as I walk. When I was a child passing on a train ferns would run along the track for miles. For some reason I use to imagine Japanese soldiers hidden in them. Why I couldn’t say, most probably some war film had stuck in my head.
The woods are full of green it’s becoming claustrophobic. I sit and wait in hope the buzzards pass by. A new era has begun, a new life let loose.

21/8/13
The stream is slow, trickling through the sycamores and ash. Brambles hooked onto my clothing making me believe they wanted me to stay or even come with me. Ferns are easily brushed aside as I trudge through.
This is a world now lost to many people. A flutter of wings, sun breaking through, movements in a shrub, the not knowing what lies ahead.
We walk down a street you know you have a good idea of what’s in front of you, but that’s not the case in the woods. Anything can happen. My senses are weak, derisory in fact.
All the emotions of the human mind that we have today, are they just a development because of what we’ve lost? Concrete, tarmac, metal, and plastic are they objects that prevent us from showing our true selves?
When I’m down here I’m humble, relaxed, sensual, aware and even benevolent. These are emotions I would otherwise struggle to show.
I head to the buzzards territory in the pines. In my own exuberance my lumbering gait disturbs two of them and they fly off. Shouting at me from above.
I find a place to sit and wait. I become a part of the shrubs, a part of the greenery. A buzzard glides through the trees and I wander if it’s the chick?
Maybe she isn’t ready to take to the clouds just yet. Her muscle development not quite strong enough. It must be daunting to find out you have become a bird and most of your life will be fighting the thermals up above.
Making my way back to the nest site, I feel sad. The last two months have been truly special but now it is over. My walks are filled with moments, the wood pigeon making that daring flight, the tree creeper going vertical, the chattering squirrel with his bottle brush tail.
My makeshift hide is now fading away. Crumbling like a childhood memory. I wander if our feet are made this way so we can keep moving forward? Life just goes on and so us with it..

28/8/13
Clouds roll in like dust swept off a wooden floor. Badger prints greet me on the path. The wide foot pad with five toe pads and those long long nails.
The leaves are starting to change again. There seems to be a bit more space between things again. Light and space opening up before me. Summer backing its bags already.
A trial of pheasant feathers lie on a path. As if placed there for someone to follow. Or remember their way home.
A motion disturbs my senses, the male buzzard which was on a branch that was at my head height, sprints away. I watch his compost brown body hammer through the trees. Even now he still doesn’t trust me. None of them do.

SEPTEMBER

1/9/13
September is here already. A chill is starting to lock up the days for each night now. We’re starting to think about logs and coal for the fire again.
Two buzzards are fighting in the sky. Grappling and showing talons. Someone has come onto the wrong territory here. It’s good to see them back in the sky though. It does seem ages since they were.
Bodies flip over as they try to get a good strike on each other. Then one of them darts off. Quickly pursued by the other. I saw this sort of behaviour before summer now it’s happening at the end too.
Two buzzards hang over the golden field. Suspended like conkers on string. They dangle for awhile, eyeing the ground below. It’s remarkable to think that the prey they could be watching right now is only two or three inches long.
The last few weeks I have noticed the pigeons congregating in great flocks. And when startled they manoeuvre together. Shaking up into the air and pummelling to safety. They do it again today but none of the buzzards show interest in chasing.

3/9/13
The Darland Wood family are high up. Watching the combine harvester on the fields. This must be a good time for the buzzards.
All sorts of rodents, rabbits, and other furry prey will scatter from the noise of the machinery. Making it easy pickings for the buzzard. I watch them just hanging, waiting, like us in a fast food queue.
Standing on the track the mother starts to teach her young fledgling some tricks. First she dive bombs her, then she shows her talons. She does this over a period of time. She also flips over onto her back as the youngster flies by.
Her duty is too prepare her daughter for what lies ahead. The future is only as good as what you have prepared for. This is something she is doing. The daughter shows no fear but must be wandering why her mother is showing talons!
The male takes action, he has seen something. His wings go tight against his body and he darts down like an arrow. Then he just goes down to the ground. Picking something up on his way.
Dust poured out from the fields lingering like some fog on a frosty morning.
A hay baler goes past, carrying boxed shaped straw from the fields. It’s a busy time for the farmers.
Seagulls come in from all over. Congregating into a spiral before splitting into two groups. They twirl in the sky and though it’s a beautiful sight I don’t fully understand why they do it.
The numbers are over hundred and it gives me a different perspective on these birds. We just think of them as being scavengers but obviously there must be more to them. It’s an amazing sight as I stand watching.

9/9/13
The drizzle taps everything, leaves bend gently and branches grow darker form the constant wet. Tractors still work the land, picking up bales, spreading bark.
Some of the trees that have been cut down are now being removed. Taken to the sawmills for cutting. An opening in the canopies looks like the opening if a car roof.
A buzzard swings through the wood showing its primaries against the different leaves that reach out. Pheasants skip about behind the fences. The season will soon be upon us again. Gun blasts echoing through the limbs of bark.
With the leaves now fading I am able to see the nest from previous years again. It’s boat shaped and sits firmly in the fork of the tree. Seeing this has made me realise even more that the season is changing.
I love Autumn but waving good bye to summer isn’t easy. Greenery is so beautiful with sunlight basking on it, or dew looking succulent in morning splendour. Autumn brings crisp leaves, as if baking them for winter to eat.
Tyre treads create some grip along the slime and slop of mud and earth. A buzzard goes from perch to perch as I make my way round.
A friend of mine is forty today. I hope I get to that age, though I am closing the gap! It’s amazing how people always strive for more, when young, some let life pass them by, others always seem unhappy.
They don’t ever seem to be contented. As if life itself is too long for them and they expect happiness before they die. Whose to say they aren’t experiencing that feeling currently? But when they get older they will say they have had a good life! We never seem to be satisfied and it’s not a shame to be, how you feel with what you do is more important than what you could be doing.
A jay screeches through the trees like a nightmare let loose from someone’s mind. Crows are in huge number on the fields, jumping up when disturbed. Pigeons are gathering too. It’s harvest time for all.

15/9/13
Action everywhere today. I set off in the morning and wander if I will see much. As soon as I hit the track a buzzard is on the field before me. She stands tall against the chopped golden stalks that are left. She waits for insects. Everything about her is powerful, the thick breast, strong neck, quick reactions, acute awareness, and her massive wings hang like oak doors.
A movement catches my attention and I see four crows chasing two buzzards. The sprint is on for the raptors as they fling themselves into the trees.
The crows look like the hunters with their insistence on chasing. I still find this sight amazing, especially with the size difference and attitude in nature. The corvids then work their way up and down the line of trees. Just seeing if the buzzards have definitely gone.
Form what I have noticed the crows will chase across open plains but not in the woods. Maybe the buzzard is too skilled amongst wooden scaffold?
A buzzard circles high up, then heads for Hopyard Wood. The Darland family are also in the air. It’s like how it was when I first started searching for buzzards. They all seem to be back in the sky again or standing on fields. It shows how much I have missed this behaviour.
The pigeon flock is huge, over two hundred now I would say. They all seem to be together like a herd of wildebeest. Then off they go across the fields.
A murder of crows mainly this years young, flick up out of the tree canopies. Some of the elders must be teaching the young. Occasionally one will dive bomb the whole lot. Or a pair will sprint out quickly chased by another.
Others come in at the flock flipping majestically as they get nearer. It must be the youth showing off to their parents. This goes on for ages. Its an amazing sight of verve, vitality, and togetherness.
Moving on I spot a buzzard coming in on a thermal, her wings plank straight as she hovers. Then she goes fifty feet up and hangs again, her primaries coin silver.

22/9/13
Rain had accompanied me on my last two walks. Filling pot holes along the tracks and creating a damp air. But today was different, there is sun!
A high sun warms the land as the land enjoys one last hurrah from summers breath. I walk with purpose knowing that the drop in the nights temperature was making the weather change so there was only one thing for a day like today, make the most of it.
I was brought up in a town, the winter was harsh but nowhere near as harsh as here. Snow stays longer, wind gathers speed from the canopies, rain keeps the land damp for longer too.
Crows bark on the fields their voices sounding like a blunt saw cutting wood. A cloud of gnats run along the hedgerow. There must be millions of them bobbing up and down like seagulls on waves.
Trees are retracting now, yellow leaves start to droop. I wander if a humans life is the same as a leaf? Grow, grow, grow, then fade, fade, drop. Disintegrating into the soil. Maybe we are actually different types of trees? Some oak, some beech, other lime or ash.
I stand wandering whether to go down a path to the woods, when my senses make me look to the sky. Five buzzards appear above me circling and smoothing the sky line. The sun shines on them as if itself had released the birds above me.

26/9/13
In just a few weeks the whole estate has changed. Green shoots are now singing through the soil. Golden straw, once mighty and waving is now left to frosty mornings.
The crows are out in force again. Playing with the breeze, I am truly impressed by their behaviour. Dancing along the open space, dazzling my eyes with spins and dives. It seems other young crows egg each other on. Some display, some watch.
Six buzzards glide across as if on a river in the sky. There was a time when I would have darted to the woods to get closer but now I stand and wait. Not before long two of them start to grapple, talons show like jousts. They do this for a minute before the weaker one flies away.
The other four have moved on, wrapping up the heat from the sun before releasing it over the woods.

30/9/13
Summer had met autumn and together they conjured up one of those days of fine sun, warmth, gentle breeze and golden light.
Sunlight through an autumn wood is hypnotic. Crisp rays shine through gaps making you think the vault of heaven has opened. It also gives the warmth of a grandparents home.
The farmer has been turning the fields, bark was now thoroughly mixed in with soil. A hundred seagulls or more mingled together. Their white feathers in complete contrast to the earth.
I walk slowly, enjoying what nature has to give me. Five buzzards soon become seven as they soar high up. They seem to realise that flying in front of the sun prevents me from watching. I stand on the field edge with my hand on my forehead, like a ships captain looking at the shore line.
When I am able to glance again two of them are only left. I watch them glide over a field, searching for a meal. Rabbits and voles are at danger now, these sort of days surely nature can get too relaxed as well?
A buzzard can see from about a kilometre up. Which I find incredible. But with a blue sky it cant be easy trying to stay unnoticed. Walking along the fields edge, stalks snap underfoot. Crows barter at each other before some young take flight.
Two buzzards hover in tandem. They must be parents. They are on to something as they move with what’s down below. Neither of them move away as the suspense keeps going. Who could be the unsuspecting prey?
I want today to last forever as all seems so pure, so philosophic. Imagine everyday having this sort of feel?

OCTOBER
6/10/13
Seven buzzards swim in the stratosphere. Pheasants mingle on the field edge. Their nerves frail from the gun. They seem to jitter on the sidelines like football supporters in the final moments of a match.
I’m still to see a buzzard attack one of these birds. I’m not saying they don’t but I haven’t seen any sort of aggression or hunting.
The buzzards were out in force today. Scouring the fields for any scurrying rodent. Trying to build that bodyweight up before winter.
Two buzzards glide across a filed, male and female. The female occasionally shows its talons, turning over like a capsized boat. Another catches my eye through the binoculars. Hovering with wings stretched out, like a gymnast on a balancing beam.
A quad goes past me with pheasant feed on the back. They need a couple of months to fatten up before shooting begins. I have heard the gamekeeper might be leaving, which would be great if they stopped the pheasant shoots. I wouldn’t have to see that sign anymore ‘shooting in progress’

10/10/13
The tractors are out again. Turning the fields once more. Seagulls whipped up like crashing waves. Crows and rooks waited in the corner.
Winters colour scheme was underway. Though it was still autumn, you could see the sullen mood taking over various parts of the woods.
I go down the split tree path and notice four buzzards puff up put the trees below. Two of them call to each other. I haven’t heard too much communication between buzzards for awhile but maybe they are all trying to help each other out with winter coming?
The wind pushes the trees back and forth, sounding like a car coming behind me. I see raptors on every filed today. One buzzard drops from an incredible height. Its wings tight against its body. Catapulted from the clouds. It goes into a field over the bypass.
The lapwings are coming back in number. Pee-witting their way around the fields. I love watching them pop up from the ground before taking flight. Any noise will trigger a safety device.
Logging is going on somewhere down the woods. Logs are piled up onto a truck. Rain was desperate to fall but the wind did its best to keep pushing it away so all I had was drizzle.
I disturb a buzzard who glides away from me. His choice of route isn’t very good as he goes over a murder of crows. Half a dozen shoot up and give chase. I feel bad for disturbing him now.
The log fire entices me home. Those crackling logs and orange embers. As soon as I hit the lane to the garden my thoughts are feet up and relax.
But then a big brown movement takes me by surprise. A buzzard jumps up and put of the garden. I watch it fly off as it carries something from its talons.
I go over to inspect and there on the flour, feathers. It must have caught a pigeon. Nature again shows me how alert I really must be.

15/10/13
We’ve yet to have autumn weather of surprising warmth. Rain lashes down leaving puddles that tattoo lanes and roads. As soon as I leave the house I hear the kee-ow sound. It seems to energise me for the walk ahead.
Buzzards sit on all fields today waiting for those worms to pop out. There’s seven of them standing like they did exactly a year ago. How quick has this journey gone? Questions have circled my mind as I wander what I have learnt from this experience? Most of all I am delighted I have kept to it. A year sounds a long time to watch something you have no knowledge over. But, I’m a bit closer now. Also I have set memories in my mind that will always stay with me. What have I learnt is something that I believe will filter through me when I start to contemplate everything.
The Darland Wood family circle high up. The mother is teaching her young again, they hover over the edge of the wood. The mother flips three or four times at her daughter, who in turn retaliates with a flip too.
The mother calls out possibly happy with the response of her off spring. They then fly away on a thermal. I watch with delight the youngster has really made it.
Seagulls gather searching for worms. Just like the raptors they will stay around for ages but they do move far more often. A buzzard can stay completely still for a few minutes but the gulls don’t.

22/10/13
Today feels like a day form last October. Twelve buzzards circle high up. Just like it was twelve months ago. I feel like I am in the past. In a way I am so pleased again, you go from seeing ten a day to just one. Now they are all back again like lost friends.
I haven’t felt the same coming down here to find them. It’s as if a part of me has been missing but it’s finally come back. I remember years ago trying to live a way that didn’t suit me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like that way but it wasn’t what I was all about. Then things changed and I found that part of me that had faded for awhile.
I’m back to where I have always wanted to be. I am happier for it. How many people ignore these feelings and let life go by? I was very conscious of it at the time but was possibly scared to admit it. I am by nature a quiet soul. Enjoying a calm day with what I enjoy doing, aiming to achieve this most days, but especially my days off.
You have to live the life you want. Otherwise you find yourself waking up and reaching back for the days you have lost. Seeing the buzzards circle like this has made me realise that I have actually built a bond with these birds. A bond that will hopefully last for as long as I can make it.
Are these birds congregating to renew old friendships? They seem happy up there above me. Circling effortlessly, there is no aggression. It makes you think that maybe they are actually pleased to see each other too.

24/10/13
The Darland Wood family are around again. I stand on the corner watching them whirl in the wind. It is so beautiful today with a blue sky achingly too far away to touch.
Four buzzards stand on a field with five circling above. A raptor with white drips of feather runs after an insect. Just keeping his balance as he picks up his victim.
Another buzzard flows across a field, its wing tips bent slightly like a ballerinas hand. Efficiency is the key to their flight. Though not the most graceful they are still beautiful fliers.
On some computer games you have energy bars to see what you disperse during a battle or race. I wander if this bird of prey has the same? Doing its best to keep itself from burning out during the year.
Next year could see major development on the estate. A new business park with housing is being planned on some of the fields. I really oppose the idea but money wins. Plus how can we keep increasing in numbers as a species and not have the leg room? No one can tell me the governments haven’t made plans for all the land on this earth. But I do wander if the future is planned or it really is just guess work each year?
The farmer has dug over a barren piece of field that I walk the dog on. I am truly gutted, nothing pleased me more than walking on this piece of the estate. Especially in the mornings. With the sun coming up and the hills looking poetical in the distance.
Wood pigeons have dispersed some place. I am not seeing them like I did a few weeks ago. Their flocks have separated. Or is it the fact they are being shot from men in landrovers?

NOVEMBER
3/11/13
Dampness everywhere today. Droplets of rain fell from leaves. Autumn has definitely been a wet one apart from the odd sunny day I haven’t been too impressed with it.
Pheasant season has started again. The first shoot was yesterday. A run of gunshots broke the silence.
Shoots have started to give the fields a bit of greenery. Trees seem to be submerging into winters palm. For the first time ever I see a grey wagtail. At first I though it was a yellow wagtail but they are summer birds. That’s another to tick off ob the list.
Seagulls follow the harrow. White feathers flipping up like froth on a wave. They are very positive birds, believing anything is possible to entice food.
Two song thrushes lead me up the track. Their speckled chests glowing in the lowering sun. The Darland family are in the sky but there is a problem. An unwanted visitor has arrived.
The male does his best to chase off the intruder but he’s stays close. The male drops from a big height and shows his talons. This is repeated until the intruder has gone. Then all is calm once more.
Walnut brown bodies linger in every field. A couple sit on fence posts. Another perches on an oak branch. I turn and head for home. The fire ablaze will soon enough warm my feet.

10/11/13
It’s getting closer to my journeys end. I have learnt a lot I’m sure, as much about me as well. I have gone through some harsh weather searching for buzzards. There have been times when I have felt like leaving it. But once a few days go by I start to ache from missing them.
This is a bird of prey but after watching them for so long I don’t see them as that now. They are an expression of the earth. A part of the organics of life.
Watching them socialise really brought it home to me. How ignorant I have been of nature. They have their battles but that is necessary to survival. Don’t we all express that? I do believe we do.
In spring it was tough, frustrating too. They seem to have just disappeared. But the wonder if finding a nest. Watching a chick grow to adult. After all the quiet walks and scratching head expression. I was rewarded with something truly special. I wish I was more adept at watching these birds but for a complete novice I have experienced something that I can only learn from.
On the field near home I watch lapwings and seagulls flip up and rest. Another beautiful day, fluffy clouds and sea blue sky. But then I see something I haven’t seen before, a female kestrel. We eye each other as she stands on the soil. It seems an eternity but then she flies off. Quite slow and relaxed she is down again before I blink.
The big white female is back on her patch. Her thick breast pushing out of her bone structure. No one comes near as usual. Some things never change and this is one of them. She may have ruled this field for years.
The female kestrel is now on the phone wire. Accompanied by two pied wagtails. They sit there as if enjoying the show from the rest of the birds that linger on the field.
A grey wagtail comes along too and sits on the wire. The pied wagtails aren’t too happy with this and chase off the grey wagtail. But the kestrel still sits. Not bothered about the commotion at the side of her.

17/11/13
I see a buzzard zoom across as soon as I hit the track. Its flight very purposeful. Then it drops to the field and carries on. I wander what it was chasing or even running from?
Pheasants scatter again as I get closer like teenagers waiting to get into a disco they soon run off at my sight.
Crows barter again and rooks flick up out of the corner of the wood. It looks comical at times like they are resting on spring loaded branches.
Wood pigeons dip in the air as they take off from the pines. You feel they are going to dive in a pool when they first jump into the air.
A song thrush pecks at the wet soil in hope of worms. She doesn’t mind the buzzards being there but is quick to move if anyone of them moves.
November is up and running now, cold blasts of wind accompanied by sunrays from a very low sun. Crisp leaves lye on the ground, matted together by droplets of rain.
The trees are naked again, they seem to be standing taller than in summer. I wander what will eventually happen to the estate? Surely one day it will be turned to a housing estate. And all the wildlife will have to move on, move away. we label things as pests, but we are the pests.
23/11/13
A slow day to be a buzzard. Their calmness at standing for hours on end amazes me. They seem so chilled out. That is until they see me and then they are off. But it’s not long before they come back down to the earth.
I will continue my education of these birds. There is still so much to learn from them. And this area is perfect I would say. Especially if they stop the pheasant shoots. That alone will add more wildlife to the estate.
Haven’t seen the fox for weeks now. There have been some moments when are paths have nearly crossed. The fur that seems to be on fire.
A buzzard has two crows on its tail. They are persistent as they harass the raptor. The buzzard doesn’t seem to go too fast but just enough speed to stay in front. Then it turns into the trees. The crows sensibly stay out and carry on.

28/11/13
This is my last day. I don’t see it being any different to any other days. All will be November chill. Gulls fly across to the landfill site. That horrible scar of a place that is the human waste bin.
The whole world retracts and sets up for the lean times. Winter is the expression of our own fears. Could you imagine there being just one season? We could never move on as a race, life would be too stale.
People moan about winter but I see it as an opportunity to reflect. It gives us a chance to set up for the next year. A breathing space for when the doors of light open again.
We misunderstand the world, that the build up of our own mistakes will eventually cost us. Winter gives us that chance to redeem ourselves for spring, when we express ourselves more freely and open up as flowers and leaves do.
A buzzard circles in the sky. I have not once got tired of seeing this. Tilting the wings or flicking the tail it is in complete control. Silver linings give me some hope some purpose to keep coming.
I watch another perched on a branch. The coconut shell brown patiently sitting. There is no movement except the head. Watching intently my own awareness has put me in this position today. Awareness that my own purpose is quickly moving on. But here I am still learning, still searching.