THE common slumbers under the haze of high summer heat.

The river has dropped several feet since my last visit a fortnight ago. A section of the once-submerged pebbly bed, now a newly-formed island, is home to preening swans.

The water’s surface is a blur of movement as it ripples and riffles over every stone it encounters. No still, deep pools here.

A still, sultry day such as today is as much about what we hear than what we can see. Whether it’s the gruff ‘cawk’ of a heron as it lumbers reluctantly up over the treeline, or the tell-tale highpitched ‘peep peep peep’ which alerts us to the presence of the kingfisher long before the merest glimpse of it is spied darting from bank to bank; it’s our ears that are to be our main guide on this visit to the common.

At the other end of the sonic spectrum we are momentarily distracted by the collective fog horn warning of the approach of an incoming flock of Canada geese.

Two squadrons in tight V formations flying low and close enough for us to also catch the rhythmic drone of their wingbeats before they wheel away to land unseen somewhere around the river’s bend.

And it’s not only from the air that the sounds come to us. The grass around our feet is alive with the collective chirping of a thousand crickets. We kneel, all the better to spy their constant high-wire act as they ascend stalks and blades which bend and give under their miniscule weight.

It’s a relief to re-enter the lane that leads back to the car park.

The dense canopy of trees overhead create a tunnel filled with noticeably cooler, damper air. 

We pause to enjoy its freshness until the insistent ‘teck, teck, teck’ of a nearby wren lets us know in no uncertain terms that our presence is not welcome.

It’s a fitting end to such an auditory visit that we never do see the bird in question.

STEVE BAILEY

NATURE NOTES FROM BACKNEY COMMON