Wren

A strange day.  A frost overnight, the merest glance below freezing; but the whole day felt out of season, a precursor of winter.  It fascinates me that each season contains days that belong to the ones before it and after it.  A cold gloomy morning with a heavy hail storm.  This afternoon was more 'changeable', with rains and occasional blasts of bright sunshine.  I foraged for firewood in Mortimer Forest outside Ludlow; the beech trees were horizontally lit by strong sunshine which showed the variety of colours within each tree; gold and green and pale yellows, and deep bronze-browns.  A beautiful sight, peaceful and silent and almost warm, as if the light  was thickening with each day and not fading.  

Twice now I have startled a wren in the courtyard.    The birds are starting to come back after a summer finding food elsewhere, great tits and blue tits and nuthatches.  We think the nuthatches were nesting in the old apple tree in the paddock.  The wren seems to be foraging in the ash's fallen leaves and in the 'wild space' between us and the paddock; she sits on the wall and hops along looking for insects.  There is something feminine about wrens; as if they are all called Jenny.