Garden birds
Every so often, above the chorus of domestic power tools, witless jet-skis and distant military hardware, there rises the urgent twittering of anxious Swallows, signalling the approach of a raptor.
Usually it’s a stealthy Sparrowhawk skimming along the hedgerow, provoking shrieks if it’s lugging prey.
At other times, it’s a Hobby sailing over or circling up against the cirrus.
On Sunday evening it was for a Peregrine, quietly consuming a pigeon on an island of feathers in the pale hay-stubble.
House Martins too sound the alarm and seem to use different sounds to denote Hobby or Peregrine.
No such wave of dread, however, heralded the passing of a dozen Crossbills yesterday. As usual, they announced their arrival with a penetrating chip-chip call seconds before they shot over our roof, heading who knows where.
