May There Ever Be Birds In Your Garden.

February in the forest can be pretty bleak; freezing temperatures, biting wind, squally rain. From the comfort of my living room, I’m marvelling at the force of Storm Eunice. She’s currently trying to tear down my fence, and whilst I love the way the wind in the larch trees causes them to shimmy their skirts, I'm glad we have been told to keep away from Butterdon and work from home today. 

Despite it potentially being the bleakest month however, there are always reminders of life in the woods. We are visited hourly by a pair of robins, who often flit down and perch on the top of the wire fence near the fire altar, or hop hopefully, almost at our feet, looking for morsels to eat. Buds are just beginning to sprout on the trees, and the first snowdrops are already nodding their tiny porcelain heads. 

Although we are months away from seeing our summer birds return from warmer climes, we should be forever grateful for the birds who remain in the woods and our gardens all winter, singing for us and reassuring us that warmer days will come. 

A few Februarys ago I wrote this sonnet to celebrate these faithful birds, who stay by our sides all year. 

Ode to the Robin and the Song Thrush 

Though days are short, the vernal rains delight 

The loam and sod from which fresh sprigs are thrilled 

And from your plot look up in joyous sight 

And tend your flocks to keep your warblers filled 

And if the birds bring to your garden songs 

As sweet as berries blushed in ripening sun 

And summer breeze brings warming winds so strong 

The scented fruits and hives with honey run 

Doubt not, as evenings dim, the days that bite 

Song Thrush stays, Robin remains, half hitched; 

Forever their woven voices delight 

With their melodies a satinwork stitched 

So feed the birds, and oft' they will fly free 

Embroidering the winter tapestry. 

Gabriella