It didn’t seem to get light today; it was grey and gloomy, wet and windy. I needed to use my headlights both to and from work. It seemed strange therefore to see several bumble bees scooting about in the breeze (North Devon talk for raging gale), perhaps irresistibly lured to the many flowers still stalwartly blooming in the garden. They were probably feasting before they do whatever it is they do in the winter (I like to think they cosy up in some nice hole and sleep peacefully until the warm glow of the spring sunshine gently awakens them, mind you they could very well just die).
The weather must have disconcerted this little chap who arrived with a bang in the potting shed. I didn’t see him arrive, but I did hear his attempt at an exit – through the window. We often have robins and fledgling blue tits, and even a young spotted woodpecker once, find their way into our humble abode but blackbirds are usually too skittish/sensible enough to stay away. Needless to say he didn’t come off best in this duel with a pane of glass, knocking himself senseless and onto the worktop. After a couple of minutes he roused, but like a punch-drunk prize-fighter could only reel around in confusion. I found a box to put him in with some bird seed (just in case he felt like a snack when he came to his senses) and on Betsy Bee’s advice we put him in the shelter, high enough to be safe but with an easy escape route. He stayed here recovering for almost an hour, Nurse Cliffe checking anxiously every so often, until he eventually flew the box. Hopefully he is now somewhere safe and a little wiser. We don’t want another head banging bird in the potting shed, my nerves can’t take it.