puddleshark

The forecast was for a grey start, with heavy rain and gales to arrive later. But actually there was a watery sort of November sunrise, turning the reeds to gold along the river.

A muddy day for walking by the water. But that's alright. I have sturdy wellingtons.

Took the walk from Wareham town down to the river, hoping to hear lapwings in the half-flooded fields: the pee-wit! call that was the soundtrack of my childhood walks to school in winter. I always hope to hear them, and never do. The lapwings are gone.

But it's not all gloom. Little Egrets, which were extinct in this country when I was a child, are a common sight in cattle pastures now.

Godwits and Curlews feeding in among the rushes on the flood-plain meadows. Canada Geese flying honking overhead.

Along the path, the willows and the oaks still hold onto a few leaves.

Only the birches are bare.

A sharp wind blowing the reeds. Cold enough to make ungloved hands ache.

I didn't mean to walk far this morning - just down to the river, and back - but found myself carrying on, just a bit further, and a bit further, since the paths were passable; out into the reedbeds.

And from the reedbeds, back through the green, rushy pastures at Bestwall. A very soggy path along the field edge. But that's alright. My wellies are not just sturdy, they are tall.