I was walking back along Church Lane this evening when I came upon
a group of swallows and martins hunting along the lane and over the fields. They
looked like they were engaged in Top Gun-style aerial combat, only better. The
swallow, in particular, is such a fast and agile flyer; I’ve heard it said that
the merlin is the only bird capable of catching a swallow in flight. And I got
treated to the same experience I described in a post last summer – turning round
to see a swallow heading for my face at breakneck speed, only to swerve away at
the last minute. It’s an exhilarating experience.
But then I heard a captivating sound. A solitary blackbird
was sitting high in the branches of my favourite ash tree, singing his little
heart out. I do believe that there is no creature on earth capable of such a
wide and fascinating range of vocal expression than the blackbird and other
members of the thrush family. The humpback whale might come close, but even
that takes second place in my opinion.
And so I stood and listened for a good ten minutes. Neither
of us moved while the swallows and martins continued to swoop, swerve, dive,
and miss my cheekbone by inches. I swear that the blackbird never repeated
a single note or phrase, such was his skill in variation. I said ‘thank you,’
and went home.
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