Stretford Meadows

A Stretford Meadows sunset

I had a busy early morning, which almost convinced me it wasn't going to be as hot as feared today. Dear reader, it was. A quick sken over the live departures web pages very quickly persuaded me that spending the day sitting on air-conditioned trains was a pipe dream. Out in the back garden the birds kept to the shade of cover, venturing out only to get a quick bite from the suet cones or have a quick bath. The old cock sparrow did a bit of singing, the cock robin emerged to strike poses to intimidate the interloper they chased off the other day. And all day the juvenile magpie that's become a fixture rattled and chunnered to itself from the washhouse roof.

It was cooler in the evening, presaging the thunder forecast for the night. I wandered over to Stretford Meadows for a stroll and was almost immediately poleaxed by the pollen count. I wondered how wise it was to go traipsing across grassy meadows in the circumstances but I was feeling bloody-minded. As it was, there was a world of difference between walking past gardens filled with mown lawns and privet hedges and walking through meadows of vetch and clover and long grass gone to seed.

Blackbirds, woodpigeons and collared doves sang me on my way to the meadows. Goldfinches twittered in the trees by the allotments and yet another in the young magpie assembly line was begging frantically as its parent tried to feed it. Overhead a few swifts hawked high over the chimney pots and a line of four cormorants flew in close formation in the direction of Woolston Eyes. Five parakeets looked to be heading to roost in Moss Park, I'll have to see if they do have a roost there.

The spadgers were busy in the hedgerows of Newcroft Road and swallows hawked low over the stables down at the end. Song thrushes and woodpigeons were doing most of the singing, backing vocals were few and far between, provided by greenfinches, goldfinches, wrens and blackbirds.

Stretford Meadows 

There were more song thrushes — at least a dozen of them — singing out on the meadows. The whitethroats and reed buntings could barely make themselves heard. A chiffchaff had one last chorus before retiring for the night. The male kestrel hovered low over "his" half of the meadows, really not caring that I was there and sometimes drifting over my way to see if I'd disturbed anything as I tramped along. I didn't reach for my camera, there was no call for upsetting him and one more kestrel photo won't make any odds.

Walking up the mound

I was hoping that I might strike lucky with a couple of targets. It was unlikely that a lesser whitethroat would still be singing this late in the evening, even if the common whitethroats were still singing their last goodbyes, but you never know your luck and I didn't have it this evening. I also harboured a hope I might come across the small stand (two plants) of twayblade I've seen on here in previous Summers. No joy there, either. In fact, I couldn't find any signs of all those marsh orchids I was seeing the other week. Soon the boggy slopes of the mound will be a sea of purple and pink, the thistles are in full bloom and the great willowherbs are coming into bud.

As the sun sets slowly in the West…

As the sun set I made my way down from the mound and made my way to Sandy Lane for the walk home. I don't know if I was more surprised by the drifts of chives growing through the wayside reeds or the ringlet butterfly fluttering through them. I hadn't noticed the absence of blackcaps until I heard one bubbling in the trees by the gardens on Sandy Lane.

Chives

A couple of dozen swifts hawked low over the station as I got home in the twilight. Perhaps I'd been overly pessimistic about them earlier in the month.