A kind of mourning
And I was looking, believe me, I was looking. Up along the tree tops. Across the floor of the beech woodland. Scanning the empty skies. And listening intently for any tell tale 'siip' or 'tick'. I was, to be truthful, chasing ghosts. Remembering what was here a year ago. Wanting to desperately relive those heady days, although I knew at the time that such events were once in a lifetime occurrences. We are, of course, talking Hawfinch.
It might sound dramatic, but I felt as if I was mourning their loss. These woods, this sky, were full of them just ten months ago - hundreds in Dorking Wood, birds strewn in every copse along the valley, on both sides and in the air above. As for today, one would have done, just the one, I wasn't going to be greedy. But no, if any were lurking out there, they kept hidden. Maybe I've used all of my 'Hawfinch dust' up.
Another day maybe, another day...