Gardeners questioned 'im

Not too much enthusiasm for venturing out today... had a bit of quality garden feeder time, instead. Threw loads of technology at it, with some passable results, which only went to prove the long-held belief that the root of my problem with photography is lack of talent.

Still, there's lots of wildlife that doesn't know that yet, so "Shhhhh!"

Greenfinch

Blue Tit

Chaffinch

Bit of  handbags for a Greenfinch and a Great Tit 

Robin

Neither of the Greater Spotted Woodpeckers could be arsed to show up. Presumably  they were off somewhere giving a tree a good beak lashing with that holier-than-thou attitude they normally reserve for nest boxes :o)

Think Pink

This morning, I am aroused from my slumbers by a sweet sound. It is not yet dawn and through the heavy drapes of the room it is not possible to detect an increase in light level, only a lessening of the darkness.

I lie there trying to resolve what my ears are telling me, wondering if I'm still asleep and dreaming.

The dawn chorus is well underway, in fact, as I regain consciousness, I realise that it is predominantly every male blackbird in the area. But behind their joyful song is the peeling of church bells. Ah, yes, Easter Sunday. This is most surreal. A combination of sounds that is as familiar as it is strange. Then understanding slowly rises over the horizon of my mind. Pink Floyd.

High Hopes from Floyd's The Division Bell album is framed by a Song Thrush and a tolling church bell, (as well as a piano, but that would be too strange at 05.54 on a Sunday morning). Intro and outro. It's simplicity belies the emotive power it stirs.

Other rock tracks spring to mind, Mike Oldfield's Tubular Bells 3 that ends with a Robin and a Wren; Faerie Stories by PBF, with its Swifts and a Robin; and more humbly but increasingly rarer, House Sparrows on the intro to Xanadu by Rush. "Increasingly rarer"? That must be a contradiction, surely?

Bird song, bells and rock music, a heady combination. I think we know who are the real Priests of the Temples of Syrinx. I am sorry Geddy, Neil and Alex, but that little piece of anatomy that allows birds to flute and warble to such beautiful effect deserves a better press.

All is quiet now, except for the occasional Robin, a Wren here, a Song Thrush there, the bells are silent once more. Man and Nature have both welcomed the new day in a manner they see fit.

At least I know why the birds were singing, their devotion to their faith is bound to the seasons and the wheel of life.