swift

Oedemera nobilis
the flower beetle, on an ox-eye daisy

I sit on our driveway, which I am now calling the courtyard, as I have parked the cars at the other end, precariously balanced some fence panels to cordon it off, and filled it with pots and pots of flowers, vegetables in grow bags of varying sorts and hanging baskets of fuschia, verbena and begonia.

There is a narrow sliver of sky between the buildings, our house and next door's garage, that focuses the attention, and the swifts are diving across that slice of blue dusk, with the peach sunset glimmering on the underside of their wings. Big birds swifts, as they dive deeper and deeper you can see their form and scale. Much bigger than you would think.

A thrush is giving its evening hit parade, what a racket. Peep peep, car alarm, budgie trill, blackbird yodel, cheep, arcade gunfire. Repeat.

this guy. The Magyar Prince of Hermitage

I walked. Walking the dog. We got Bruno at the very beginning of lockdown, and his incessant demands give us focus. Service to his needs, attempting to understand his communication style, tending to his various wounds, limps, tennis ball devouring, delicate allergic skin and finding new ways to feed him that take longer than ten seconds (I recommend the Kong Extreme if you have a Vizsla of similar oversized stature), all this is an act of love and takes us out of ourselves.

The moon is sharp tonight, a perfect half bright above me.

It's 930pm, time for the Woodcock to pass over ahead, flitting over the woods and the lye (ley or lea - meaning pasture or meadow) with a sound like he's breaking the sound barrier. He passes over nightly on his 'roding', part of the mating ritual. I'm going to get my binoculars and lie in wait.