The Company of Birds

Where roots are wrapped about the bones

Hello from the moss. As last week’s The Greening landed in your inbox the cloud cleared and the birch were finally flushed from bud by two days of life-affirming bone-reaching sun. It felt ridiculously hot but wasn’t; it’s relative.

Tadpoles simmer in the wet, a reminder that for each new life there is death too. Nature is also red: a magpie flies to the meadow with a fledgling blackbird, pursued by four shrieking adults to no avail; ancient-looking carrion beetles cluster darkly in conversation as orange banded Sextons disappear under a near skeletal leg of roe; a raven tears into an unfortunate wood pigeon. Beak, and tooth and claw: Tennyson’s words echo. The moss is a place of life and death, an ecosystem of decay and recycled nutrients, the skeletal remains of those that were here before. To quote Tennyson again, Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. This feels like a good description of a raised bog.

The bank behind the house next door is lined with gean (wild cherry, Prunus avium). A veil of whitest pink newly lifted, a crumpled stage curtain of blossom all too soon to become confetti for this marriage of life and death. Every birth presages a passing; each loss is a beginning. Prologue-chapter and verse-epilogue. The End, but not; only a punctuation mark in between here and now, past and future.

The Company of Birds

Last week on a recommendation I downloaded the Merlin app and went on a walk. I’ve always enjoyed listening to the birds here and sometimes recorded them, but the biggest surprise was how the immediacy of this tool brought a place I think I know truly alive.

All of this makes me wonder what it would be like if we could perceive not just the birds, or animals, but the intelligence of insects, the conversations of plants, the networks of mycelium: the full biota. That is a virtual reality that would be truly mind-blowing, and I contemplate which side of awe it would fall - beauty or terror? This thought nudges me to pick up and thumb through my copy of Gossip from the Forest by Sarah Maitland, a book that I should re-read; it’s been a while.

I’d like to thank

Ren Powell

who writes Acts of a Recovering Drama Queen for her recent morning Note. Her words prompted me to respond, and writing my comment sowed the seed in my mind for this post. Perhaps it was meant to be, as I had sampled birdsong a few days previously with the thought of sharing it with you.

This is why I resist the idea of a content calendar. The nature of this place and the inspiration it provides demands a fluidity of response that a calendar would crush into a box; it would loose its spontaneity and, for me, the joy of writing and sharing.

So here are some sounds from the moss: 14 minutes built from a series of recordings made at points along my walk past fen, through pine and birch, skirting bog. Some species were no surprise, but there were unexpected outliers. There’s an occasional rustle from me, but I especially didn’t want to lose the beginning. The not quite bird not quite insect sound that I had noticed the previous week registered as a Grasshopper Warbler; you will hear this at the start as I pass the reeds. They are seemingly right at my feet, but I have yet to gain as much as a glimpse of this elusive bird. Find a space in your day, close your eyes, and drift away in the company of birds.

                                                         The Company of Birds
Grasshopper Warbler ~ Blackbird ~ Willow Warbler ~ Woodpigeon ~ Rook ~ Chaffinch ~ Wren ~ Robin ~ Blackcap ~ Coal Tit ~ Great Tit ~ Spotted Flycatcher ~ Goldcrest ~ Siskin ~ Great Spotted Woodpecker ~ Pheasant ~ Blue Tit ~ Collared Dove ~ Chiffchaff ~ Goldfinch

Other birds that have kept me company this week are: Cuckoo, Swallow, Tree Pipit, Lesser Redpoll, Treecreeper, Meadow Pipit, Song Thrush, Crossbill, and Jackdaw. A hint at a richness that exceeds what we see.

Moss: a handmade book of the small

Last week I started playing with another book form, the layered concertina, using scraps from my collage drawer. It is again an experiment, small, and as yet not quite as translucent as I would like: this is something that I hang onto, a legacy of looking into water that reflects, refracts, conceals and amplifies.

I have another version planned, which picks up on the birdsong, mixing the names of the species in the recording with the sound and verdancy of the Spring moss. And so, as the current settled weather means outdoor tasks call, I shall set this aside for now. Thank you for being part of the conversation; it was again good to hear your thoughts on The Greening and I hope our dialogue will continue.

A shout out too and thank you to

Ramona McCloskey

who writes Stone, Soil and Soul for her kind words about A New Topography: I have a few copies left if you would like one. Not all of you will be familiar with Substack, but I’m finding it a wonderful community of writers and artists, and using the app as a sideways scroll to discover new inspiration.

Until next week,

You’ll find more image rich writing in previous posts on FLOW’s home page. My photography and mixed media art live here on my website.

And finally…

Leaf peeping in the birch

All words and images copyright © Michela Griffith except where otherwise noted