Bitter Suite - Marillion

 While the forecast overnight temperature of +7°C manifested itself as a +9°C there were not a lot of Moths to be found across all 5 traps. However, we were not about to turn our nose up at the only ‘first for year’

TWIN-SPOTTED QUAKER

or for that matter an additional bunch of odds and ends.

A diminutive

16-SPOT CREAM LADYBIRD

a species of

GLASS SNAIL
(how they get into the traps we may never know)

one of the 

TACHANID PARACITIC FLIES
and a

PISAURA SPIDER
of sorts.
(we thank John for his assistance with some of the ID's)
A spider wanders aimlessly within the warmth of a shadow
not the regal creature of border caves
But the poor, misguided, directionless familiar
of some obscure Scottish poet.    (Bitter Suite)

Foggy to say the least, but not enough to deter the birds from their

Early Morning (doorstep) Feeding Ritual
while at pond-side the first 'fully crowned'

BLACK-HEADED GULL
was noted

and here's one we caught earlies!

Looking across the Airport the fog was slowly clearing but too late for yet another hapless

WOOD PIGEON

with the

likely culprit
COMMON BUZZARD

still in attendance.
Across the Heath no Gorilla's in the Mist just

ROE DEER
the first vocal

Mistle Thrush with descant provided by 'drumming'
Great Spotted Woodpecker.
Not at all a familiar sight to see any bird on Dean's Ditch

FEMALE MALLARD
and the gentle breeze proving quite theraputis passing across this young

SCOTS PINE

The remains of the old
World War II RAF Base
close to the Moth Traps always conjure up thoughts of how it once was

before a more than welcome, but all too brief encounter with a small flock of

SISKINs
Final Port of Call was to be the Solar Panel Compound where again a feeding

MISTLE THRUSH

was encountered

but even more quickly dismissed as the familiar croaking of

RED-LEGGED PARTRIDGE

was detected.

Over the past year there have been c3 on site but
only c2 found on the day making for another addition to the

Year List which ended the session with a most welcome Bang!
The mist crawls from the canal
like some primordial phantom of romance
to curl, under a cascade of neon pollen
While I sit tied to the phone like an expectant father

your carnation will rot in a vase.