It must be the largest gathering of blackbirds ever witnessed in our garden, certainly I can’t recall any larger congregation. The numbers are akin to those of the starlings, when they mass in on one of their scavenging raids. Everywhere I look on the waterlogged lawn, it’s a hive of black feathered, yellow-billed, activity. Perhaps the heavily persistent plod of the rain has mesmerised the worms to come to the surface, handsome pickings for our avian visitors.
They’re certainly braver souls than I am but then, their feeding habit must always be opportunistic, whereas we are in the fortunate position of having a reasonably stocked larder to meet our needs, as and when.
I’ve just returned from a short excursion to the bakery, five minutes walking time from our door. Just as blackbirds have become waders, an ornithological mystery, within the short time frame of my outing, waterproofs have been transformed into waterlogged and, workaday trousers become part of a wetsuit. There’s definitely magic in the air.
So far this morning, there’s very little sign of our more frequent avian visitors; coal tit, great tit, house sparrow and even our resident robin, are notable by their absence. I trust they’ve all found a nice dry roosting spot, as they wait for the rain to ease a little.