“To everything, turn, turn, turn There is a season, turn, turn, turn”
This peace-seeking, biblical song by the Byrds was released exactly a week before I was born. Which feels nicely, vaguely, auspicious.
Another byrd, the turnstone (Arenaria interpres, a type of sandpiper) – is a joy to watch, as it turns over pebbles, turns over shells, turns over stones, along rocky and shingly shores, searching for prey – even lifting rocks as big as its own body.
Here in Hastings & St Leonards, turnstones are a common, slightly comical sight, continually blustering along our promenades and beaches throughout the year.
These photos were taken on Bulverhythe beach in West St Leonards at dusk in midwinter. Hence the slightly drab appearance here, in their winter plumage. In breeding season, turnstones are more colourful, their wings mottled with chestnut-orange shades.
My wife and I have often wondered where they nest. But perhaps they don’t nest here. Apparently turnstones are migrants to the UK but are seen all year round as different populations arrive throughout the seasons.
For the turnstone, there is always a season to turn, turn, turn.
And for those who enjoy and contemplate the marvels of nature, “a time for peace, I swear it’s not too late.”
PS: Don’t forget to check out my Home page and ‘About’ page, for more Spirit of Nature stuff.
The other day, driving through Norman’s Bay along picturesque Pevensey Levels, stuck the whole way behind a car going at 25mph, I was getting increasingly frustrated.
I mean, I know the road’s a bit curvy, but come on!
But then…as I rounded a bend, there flying almost towards me was the first barn owl I’ve seen for I don’t know how many years – and probably the best view I’ve ever had of one.
If I’d been driving at my usual speed, I would have reached that point in the road earlier and wouldn’t have seen the owl.
A reminder to me from the One that “God causes all things to work together for good” as the Bible puts it (and no doubt similarly in other traditions), and if we will only go with the flow of situations that are challenging or even painful, rather than resist, we will see the good things that are designed to flow out of them.
A reminder of the benefits of slowing down, whether by choice or enforced.
Although they’re now a thriving garden bird (6th most common in this year’s RSPB Big Garden Birdwatch survey), we’ve rarely seen goldfinches in our garden over the years.
So it was sheer delight, a couple of weeks ago, to see a flock of about twenty pass through. Here are a few of them on our neighbours’ tree against a sky that really was that colour (no filters)! A gorgeous sight, even if I was slightly disappointed they didn’t come to our feeders that day.
Thankfully, the very next day a number of them properly stopped by in our garden…
After that, I did what any nature-lover would do: I went straight out and bought some nyjer seed, of course, in an attempt to keep them coming back.
The nyjer seed is now in situ in the garden and we’re having (still sporadic but) more frequent visits from these striking birds. There were two goldfinches at our feeders this morning. As I rushed to get my camera (too late, because they’re still not stopping long), my young daughter’s response was “Oh my gosh, they’re so pretty!”
Hopefully, as these flighty finches become more accustomed to our garden, there’ll be more and better photos to come.
Last month, about 15th April, I had the great
pleasure of watching a sparrowhawk flitting to and fro, carrying twigs to a
nest high up in the trees in Summerfields Woods, our local nature haven where
we walk our dog, Gorka, most days.
One thing that distinguishes this beautiful raptor from other birds of similar size in these woods, such as the magpies and woodpigeons, is the absolute silence with which it takes off.
The noise of the sparrowhawk is conspicuous by its absence.
Obviously a prerequisite for a hunting bird that captures and feeds on blue
tits and other small birds (of which there are plenty in these woods).
And because it spends most of its time high up in the trees,
you’d probably only notice it if you were looking up, looking out for birds.
Over the following weeks I’ve spent some time trying to see her again and to take some pics. A couple of times I saw her, perched on high branches, maybe looking out for prey, and was chuffed to take these reasonable photos:
Another time, I tried to perch myself on some fallen tree trunks, waiting with my camera. I wanted
to take a picture of the hawk flying to and from the nest, displaying her fan
tail. But it was impossible to get comfortable on the misshapen wood. So I
stood around for a few minutes, then walked on.
Within 48 hours, as I returned to the area, I was incredulous to find some woodland volunteers had constructed a bench out of the same fallen trees in exactly the right spot for watching the nest!
Coincidence? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Maybe our delight in and appreciation of nature takes on the shape of prayer and worship as it reaches the eyes and ears of the One who designed, sustains and fills this wonderful world – whether or not we’ve intended those sentiments as prayer or worship.
Maybe, when we engage with nature, we cannot help but
encounter the Spirit of nature, whatever we call him/her/it.