Local patch 32

It is a hushed, waiting time on the tracks and trails now. The shifting Gulf Stream finally brought a return to recognisable weather and it has rained. 'Usable rain', I heard it called on the radio. The grass has greened but it will take a long time before the great cracks across the land are healed. Levels on our Somerset reserves and waterways remain low. The garden has suffered in the brittle, dry heat. I tipped the contents of several old hanging baskets into the chicken run and they rushed to scratch through it, breaking up the roots and scavenging the bugs and mini beasts inside. Lettuces have gone to seed and the large white butterflies (pieris brassicae) have devastated the cabbages. There are so many this year and their yellow and black caterpillars have feasted.

We went into the mothy night to listen for owls. There was no moon and our dark, Somerset sky was full of stars. The last of the Perseid meteors, debris from an ancient comet, fireworked across the sky. Bilbo started an urgent, familiar dance and under the hedge we found his spiky prey. He is good at leaving them alone, but would so love to investigate! We have seen several hedgehogs in the garden, including a couple of young ones. How lovely that they have bred here this year. Get fat now guys, feed up before the long sleep.

The hedgerows and reserves are quiet. The swifts have disappeared from our skies. Suddenly they are gone, screaming south before the wind changes. There are still swallows and martens in good numbers. House martens are visiting the eaves of the old farmhouse opposite, perhaps there is a (too) late brood in there? The warblers are quiet and even the rooks have cackled off to feeding grounds afar. Robin and blackbird are silent.

Along the canal, moorhen families fuss quietly in the reeds and young coots practise flexing their long, green toes. The kingfishers continue to patrol their stretch of water. They fly low and sit still and it is easy to miss them.

Hedgerow harvests are looking rich and full already. Dark clusters of elderberries are bending the branches low. Hips and haws are shining with the fire of autumn. Sloes glow fierce and blue, but they are small this year. The lime globes of mistletoe are looking fat and plentiful. And on the path behind the church, a tangle of hazel and hawthorn is draped with soft, frilly hop bines (humulus lupulus). Brambles are loaded. We picked them for a hedgerow crumble, with windfall apples scrumped from next door. Today, I found a plump pair of green hazlenuts (Corylus avellana) on the tow-path. They will be ripe when the soft leaves of the trees turn colour. But by then they will have been gathered up by the squirrels, wood mice, jays, wood pigeons and nuthatches, providing a high calorie feast at the changing of the season.

Local patch 22

Bilbo and I ran across Aller Moor yesterday morning in the pink pearl dawn. The winter sky was ice cream colours as the sun rose. Ice clicked and crunched under my boots. As we reached the end of the drove road, a dozen little egrets took flight from the rhyne where they were fishing. Their pure white feathers glowed rose in the rising sun. These beautiful white herons are a recent addition to our landscape with some 700 breeding pairs here now. They have spread along the south coast and their territory is gradually pushing northwards. We are accustomed to seeing them. Numbers swell to more than 4000 birds during the winter. And they have been joined in Britain, much more recently, by two other white herons: the great egret and the rarer cattle egret. Their presence must be a sign of our changing climate, and that is worrying. But they do add an exotic elegance to our waterways!

Other winter visitors made their presence known too. Redwings called 'tseep tseep' overhead and the fieldfares chuckled. They are feasting on the hawthorn and rosehips. A small group of green sandpipers shot away from Bilbo on the water meadows. Their piping call is typical of the winter countryside. A pair of raven cronked as they passed, and along the Sowy River there were grey wagtail flitting and hunting.

The trees are bare now and they have revealed their hidden treasure: huge globes of mistletoe. In this land of apple trees, it is widespread. It hangs in perfect spheres of bright lime green leaves and ice coloured berries. The trees have their own baubles. We associate it with Christmas and bring it into our homes to hang above our doorways. We enjoy bringing the outside indoors during this darkest season of the year. Linked with ancient fertility rituals, we welcome friends and family with a kiss. But this hemiparasite is not a good neighbour; dense infestation eventually damages the host trees. Many berry eating birds feast on it and pass the seeds to other sites. Our mistle thrush takes its name from the mistletoe - but today, among the other winter thrushes, the mistle thrush was absent.