Blackbird

Yesterday I saw a Blackbird on the tree. It sat for a while watching life go by, and then, deciding it was safe, flew to the topmost branch where it proceeded to shovel berry after berry into its beak. In fact, it was shoveling so fast that berries were spilling and falling about the bird and onto the ground. It was then I realised what a nervous bird the Blackbird was. It doesn't feed noisily and insoucianctly, like the Starling, but with great speed and alacrity, as if expecting to be surprised at any point in its feasting. This, of course, happens more often than not, when the bird then flies off, complaining in its loud alarum. It is a particularly distressing sound, especially when heard in the summer, should a magpie pay visit to the neighbourhood.

Despite, or because of, its nervous disposition, the Blackbird is one of the most mellifluous mistrals of the backyard. When it sings, it is heart stopping. All activity ceases and its song will remind you of spring soaked mornings or of unending love in the summer's twilight. It's song comes deep, like all good singers, from deep beneath its diaphragm. The volume it sings at is Herculean, and its ability to improvise is second to none. It makes grown men cry and apples tumble from women's laps. In the wake of the Blackbird's song the memories of forests past with their enchanted denizens materialise once again. The fairies, remembering their purpose sparkle silver in the very tops of trees, water sprites dance their glancing dance upon the shimmering surfaces of streams. So potent and honey rich is the blackbird's song that it will fill an empty heart with satisfaction, every thirst that burned is slaked. I was once told by a friend that there is a timbre in the blackbird's song which is superior to every other bird's in the woodlands. I was skeptical, but over the years, I see that he was right.

Yesterday I went to visit another friend. Anthony is now writing his fourth book and I was very lucky to see some of the photos which he had amassed. I had already seen some of the text, which was written with his usual sparkling wit. I shared with him my hungry blackbird story and he told me his. He spent something like £20 a week on apples which he placed in the middle of the garden. And throughout the day, the nervous blackbirds who loved apples would arrive in and then, in order to binge, away from overly interested eyes, they would roll the apples into the undergrowth. He said it was absolutely hilarious watching them do this. But, he said, if they loved apples, it was oats which turned them into junkies. They just feed themselves stupid on the oats, he told me.

The Blackbirds we have now are mostly winter visitors. They fly from the frozen North - Scandinavia, Siberia, to winter here. If we get a good crop of berries, and a very cold winter, we have what is an irruption - an explosion of visitors which can be very visible. Migrant birds which take advantage of Ireland's eternal spring.

I have now discovered the joys of watching birds in the backyard. I was telling Anthony about the Bullfinches I saw. That's a great bird! he exclaimed. What did they look like? I said, well, you know the cotoneaster I was telling you about, there is an ash tree behind that, and in between there is a leilandeii hedge. I saw the first bird on the ash tree, and thought it was Chaffinch, because of the reddish colour, but then I looked closer and saw the pink! Then I saw the beak was shorter and behind it, was the companion bird. They always appear in pairs, he said. My first Bullfinches in the garden.

I have to say that I am now ready to reconnect with birds, after having set them aside for a few years. I realise how much I have missed them. And also how much there is to still learn about them, just by watching them. I was saying to Anthony how I had put out a feeder three years ago and filled it for a few months, but then just got lazy and never filled them again. Still the birds come to the feeder to check it out, to see if I had left something out this time. I feel so guilty! I said. He nodded and replied, they never forget a food source, birds. Which made me feel a thousand times worse. Tomorrow I am going to refill the feeder and put out other seeds and the bird bath.

Tomorrow is a gardening day, I think.

I went to Glenariff with my parents today. I just love winter more and more. We drove along the coast and two gorgeous rainbows accompanied us all the way. Each time we seemed about to enter the foot of the rainbow, it would disappear and materialise further down the road. Ghin, wearing my Polaroid sunglasses marveled at the striking colours which extended in that protractor arc across the entire bay of Larne Lough. Up in the mountains was a thin rime of ice over everything. The air was much much colder which made each breath feel sharp and cleansing. Even my mother noticed it.

The sunset infused the skies with a dusky orange and where there was no orange, there was a translucent blue. I was so happy I thought I could cry. And then, in Laraig, I heard a blackbird singing. It was the perfect accompaniment to such a sweet day.