Space for life

Speckled wood

I cannot live without space – outdoor space. At its most idyllic, people exhale beneath blue skies. They walk or run along paths, through trees, over dunes or on the beach. Momentarily the ring of a cyclist’s bell may puncture the calm but this is just a moment’s incursion as two spaces collide. Today, most of the people are carrying a lead and a toy that entertains their companion dogs. There are the sounds of conversation, an occasional roll of laughter and splashing as the dogs play. All of the people (and the dogs) appear relaxed and happy. The shore is devoid of birds but the beach is not empty, there are unseen fish and invertebrates hide in the sand. Life is here, unobtrusively sharing this space with me.

Behind the dunes birds sing amongst trees and shrubs, imposing on senses if we care to notice. A multitude of invertebrates thrive indifferent to our disturbance. Butterflies flash brilliance amongst the floral paint whilst smaller insects dissolve as a sprinkling of dust. Despite their tiny size their is an abundant of diversity here.

Peacock

Leucozona lucorum (a hoverfly)

Outdoor space, natural space – space where stresses can expand to the point where they dissolve – is good for my wellbeing. The touch of a breeze and the kiss of sunlight give the room that thoughts need to evolve and a place where conversations can fly. This is an asset more valuable than riches. It is also home to an immeasurable variety of life. I appreciate the value of this space and try to be sensitive to my effects on its life.

Welcome to my international friends.

Meadow pipit

The wind is coming from the East and its whispering voice in the grass echoes my thoughts. Quietly I plead with the sky to bring southern species. Anything could arrive now. Every bird that I see flying and all the small songbirds are scrutinised in hope of finding a new arrival.

Wheatear

The green carpet of the local golf course fairways are an obvious attraction for pipits, larks and wheatears. Today bouncy northern wheatear have landed and are busy feeding on unseen insects. They look as bold here as they do in winter when running around an African desert. There they share the air with swallows just as they do today.

Grasshopper warbler

Chiffchaff

Warblers have arrived in the hedges. All of the common species have now reached Britain with chiffchaff and blackcap, the earliest migrants, settling down to nest. Most of the other species are just arriving and they are singing vigorously to establish their territories. I am excited to find a grasshopper warbler, a skulking devil that usually creeps through dense scrub, sitting in full view and churring continuously like a toy soldier doing a drum roll on my cochlea.

All of my local habitats are awake and ready to nurture my international friends. As I find new arrivals and anticipate the species from overseas that I will find tomorrow, the tensions around international boundaries seem artificial and unnecessary.

Closing my eyes

This morning I look out on a clear, blue sky and a dense thicket of yellow. I can compare the images of these flowers with my field guides and identify this common gorse, another species to write on my day list of words.  Now I close my eyes and focus my ears; I want to get beyond names and experience the life here.

The noise of traffic behind me is filtered out as I listen to the birdsong – the space comes alive. There is a secret space between the thorns where birds lurk. The robin perched high to project his song but hidden in the secret space wren, linnet, chaffinch, dunnock and greenfinch all reveal themselves to my ears.

Nearby, my nose catches the rich scent of bluebells – spanish bluebells escaped from nearby gardens. I inhale to drink the dense, sticky notes. Now I have a set of unique sensations that fix my place and season.

My eyes don’t lie but they don’t reveal the whole truth either. They can close my other senses but that would be to miss most of this world.