Country diary: a dozen house martins arrived, whirling among the trees

Blacka Moor, South Yorkshire: This little gang were in constant motion, feasting on a haze of insects, laying down fat, preparing for the long migration southI am not ordinarily a fan of memorial benches plonked in semi-wild habitats, but this one was expertly located and, having come a long way, I was grateful for the seat. Coming across the hill above, the wind had been sharply cold: the leading edge of autumn. Here was shelter and warmth; the steep-sided valleys below lush with trees almost all the way to Sheffield's city centre. It was like sitting in the gods.Blacka Moor, being managed for wildlife, is a rich contrast to grouse moors nearby. Yet I like its margins best, where heather and bilberry run up against woodland. This is where the bench was put, nestling among young rowans, birch and hawthorns that fringe older oaks and pines. Most of the rowan berries were still brightly orange but here and there some had deepened to red; the haws were starting to turn. Most striking of all was the clarity of light, as though summer's end had rinsed the air and left the world more sharply defined. The sun would soon be gone but for now everything was seen and known. Continue reading...