James Gilbert

Grateful for this moments ago.

jackdaws yap & drift leaves eddy in street corners the sun pinks thin cloud

A stock dove arrows overhead, gale-assisted, linear like a roman road, plumage a swatch of the storm clouds above.

field & hedgerow bathed in sepia light incoming storm

The honey-glazed effect poured over the red & gold trees of October, when only fleetingly does soft sunlight burst through falcon-grey clouds…

Rain falling in plumb bob lines. Out of nowhere a song thrush sings.

Glitter, chitter, pitter — goldfinches in the rain.

Wren & robin sing from somewhere in the cold wet semi-dark, telling me to seize the day.

guided by stars outriding white horses magical redwings

In the lonely morning dark, lovely to have just heard overhead the first redwing “tseep”. Redwing (& fieldfare) company in navigating through the cold & dark months, is a precious thing.

Nothing like a shooting star to give perspective after a trying day.

Variegated grey clouds sail above the flowerless mead, & the wind kisses colder than of late. Every other step through dew-weighted grass causes craneflies to take flight & scatter low. From a backwater willow, a light burst of chiffchaff song evokes spring, while autumn romances the heart.

red kites in the wind in their element

Cautiously excited & hopeful—someone close to me who co-owns a field (former pasture) with a stream running through it, has had very +ve talks with a local environmental charity about “daylighting” a piped section of it, thus restoring its former course here & associated floodplain wetland. Beaming!

An impromptu moment of endearing calm, always, is watching a blackbird bathe.

Today here in the UK: the first day in 117 days that temperatures across the entire country are staying below 20°C. Quite a statistic.

the song thrush singing or not is a smile-breaker day-maker

Sick of the litter that blights every walk or car journey I take &, moreover, imperils worlds to which we are connected. Words fail me that some fail at showing this most basic level of respect for our environment.

After an enjoyable few years on what was Twitter, making connections with fellow nature lovers & sharing advice & learning along the way, X became a big dislike for me. So it’s bittersweet to have finally deleted my Twitter/X account today. This small digital cleanse was definitely needed, though.

On this dreary morning, there’s a wren singing with new-spring intensity. I’ll take that.

a desolate fen the linnets’ drift-chatter makes it less so

a jay's acorn screech journey-bound swallows chatter change breathing new life

seedhead bronze seen in the marsh harrier ghosting now gone

Recently visited the Museum of Chelmsford. Delighted to stumble on a display marking the centenary of J.A. Baker’s birth, feat. a draft of “The Peregrine” &, fr. his birdwatching diary (1954-56) the 21-03-55 entry concerning Oaklands Park (in which the museum now sits). @robgmacfarlane.bsky.social

A poem I wrote has found its way into this established & engaging magazine. Very pleased! With grateful thanks to the editors.

From berry-laden cover, a blackcap & chiffchaff sing simultaneously. An autumn preamble with spring written all over it.

Early September: redwings & fieldfares reach the shore of my mind.

Just now: a buzzard above me, wheeling on sun-kissed wings beneath a cloudlet sky. A perspective giver, spirit lifter.

The soft colours, & layers & textures of this morning’s sky north of my home town.

#WendellBerry

dew-strung gossamer early air holds earthy tang a chiffchaff’s reprise it starts the repair of me, summer worn autumn I am yours

Autumn whispers hello in the robin’s changed song.

A new poem. It’s called “Stop, Look & Sparrows”. Freshly written & follows a situation I had last week. (Perhaps a 2-minute read, & so any reads here appreciated.)

lighting-up time mist over the playing fields owl’s wavering call

a chiffchaff’s reprise an autumn tang in light air bramble after rain

Thunderstorms — instant rewilding of the mind.

a landscape of loss industry community place love ecology scattered wounds seen & hidden scars these wuthering heights

A quiet, leafy lane; “pretty” becomes “enchanted”, courtesy of one shaggy bracket.