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| At sundown, the Sussex skies come alive At sundown, the Sussex skies come alive | |
| (2 days later) | |
| It feels less cold, but the grass is still hard, smooth and slippery underfoot. The channels and small pools of water are almost completely frozen over, their surfaces patterned like frosted glass where the water has thawed and frozen again. A grey mist is starting to rise from the ground. In the distance, the red sun is sinking behind the South Downs and the sky glows with ember streaks of orange and red. | It feels less cold, but the grass is still hard, smooth and slippery underfoot. The channels and small pools of water are almost completely frozen over, their surfaces patterned like frosted glass where the water has thawed and frozen again. A grey mist is starting to rise from the ground. In the distance, the red sun is sinking behind the South Downs and the sky glows with ember streaks of orange and red. |
| From the reeds along the river’s edge, water rails are calling. Familiar but always unnerving, their grunts and cries – often compared to the squeals of piglets – are known as “sharming”. I count at least four separate birds’ voices. They seem more eerie in the cold and dark. As I walk along the river bank, a moorhen and three water rail fly, one by one, across the river to the other side and into cover. The squealing sounds become a cacophony. | From the reeds along the river’s edge, water rails are calling. Familiar but always unnerving, their grunts and cries – often compared to the squeals of piglets – are known as “sharming”. I count at least four separate birds’ voices. They seem more eerie in the cold and dark. As I walk along the river bank, a moorhen and three water rail fly, one by one, across the river to the other side and into cover. The squealing sounds become a cacophony. |
| More often heard than seen, water rails are smaller and slimmer than the similar moorhen, with a mottled brown back, grey underparts, and black and white striped flanks, with a longer, narrow red bill. Not that it’s possible to see these colours in this light. The black silhouette of a rail creeps along the white frozen edge of the water, its upward-pointing tail twitching, and disappears into the reed. The sharming subsides. | More often heard than seen, water rails are smaller and slimmer than the similar moorhen, with a mottled brown back, grey underparts, and black and white striped flanks, with a longer, narrow red bill. Not that it’s possible to see these colours in this light. The black silhouette of a rail creeps along the white frozen edge of the water, its upward-pointing tail twitching, and disappears into the reed. The sharming subsides. |
| A ghostly pale barn owl flies towards me, flapping its wings in soft, effortless movements, paddling the air like a large butterfly. It passes within feet of me, throwing me a casual glance, but its attention is on hunting. | A ghostly pale barn owl flies towards me, flapping its wings in soft, effortless movements, paddling the air like a large butterfly. It passes within feet of me, throwing me a casual glance, but its attention is on hunting. |
| The owl bounces and turns, all the while watching the grass, or rather listening with its facial discs, channelling every tiny sound into the ear apertures on the sides of its head. It drops to the ground, but lifts up again almost immediately, dangling talons empty. The barn owl flies away, towards Greatham Bridge and over the trees, to try another field. | The owl bounces and turns, all the while watching the grass, or rather listening with its facial discs, channelling every tiny sound into the ear apertures on the sides of its head. It drops to the ground, but lifts up again almost immediately, dangling talons empty. The barn owl flies away, towards Greatham Bridge and over the trees, to try another field. |
| I walk back to the road and over the bridge. In the darkness, I can hear the soft honking calls of Canada geese on the flooded brooks up-river. | I walk back to the road and over the bridge. In the darkness, I can hear the soft honking calls of Canada geese on the flooded brooks up-river. |
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