Woodland and a Peregrine

Local wood in Autumn

I love to walk in the woods. There is nothing more re-creational than a few moments spent taking in the beauty of this habitat. There is a particular atmosphere in these English woodlands, many of which are relatively ancient, having been preserved by a mixture of chance and the imperatives of royal hunts. A few commons also remain, untouched by the Enclosures, open to those who know them. I would bet that most people in this area don't know these woods and are ignorant of their beauty. Is this a surprise ? Probably not. I read recently that most children in London never go to green spaces during the year. What a great pity, and how indicative of their parents' and teachers' lack of concern for their wellbeing, beyond what they are 'taught' and the latest gadget or fad.

The air was still and the pitter patter of water droplets could be heard falling onto the leaf litter, even the individual falling of leaves could be perceived. The chit chat of long-tailed tits came down from the canopy, the raucous conversation of the crows and the nimble progress of a grey squirrel from branch to branch. All could be discerned above the clamour and clanging of human activity in the nearby factories and the squeaking of the passing train. Here indeed was a haven of peace, where small creatures live unconcerned by the city, as they have always done.

I moved on up the path and over the footbridge across the railway. The area is more open; the wood, reduced to a strip now, continues to the east along the golf course; a path goes south along the tracks, and to the left of it is the expanse of land once taken up by sludge beds, now left to nature. I take this path and stop when I see the outline of a bird on a treetop and watch for a few moments. A sparrow hawk rests awhile before striking off to continue its search for prey. I resume my progress, passing under the high voltage electricity pylons, sizzling in the humid autumnal air. High above I glimpse the outline of another bird soaring high above, gliding before beating its wings three or four times. The unmistakable form of a peregrine. A marvellous sight, made all the more memorable because it is in the middle of this metropolis, but unseen by most of the thousands of people roundabout. My little secret. The heart is uplifted. The day is made.