I had arranged to go over to The Lodge at Sandy to meet JD for a bit of a natter, before he went off to Craven Cottage to see his beloved Fulham try to claw a result against the Hammers. He agreed that I'd hit the nail on the head reference the weather, but we decided to risk the showers and wander across the heath, along a few of the reserve's waymarked paths. The odd warbler sang, despite the rain, and we spotted several Green Woodpeckers, searching for ants in the sandy soil. That's the woodpeckers searching for ants, not JD and I. We're not formicating stupid, y'know. That's definitely NOT a typo, in case you're wondering, dear reader.
As the skies lightened and we climbed back into the woodland, it was to a typical Spring scene of dappled greenish light and a carpet of Bluebells, all the fresher for their morning wash.
Whilst returning to the car park, I was struck by the incongruous site of a small grey stone sat on top of a felled Beech log. JD helpfully pointed out that the reason for this was because it was a Tawny Owl fledgling, not a rock. Wrong Len then, less helpfully, pointed out that it was too far away. Doh!
Hopefully, this wee, bedraggled bundle of feathers will have the chance to dry out before it succumbs to the cold or predation.
Back at JD's place, the heavenly scent of freshly-baked scones showed that whatever the football result, there'll be crumbs of comfort aplenty.