After reading Chris Packham’s horrifying reports of the bird hunting in Malta, the sound of the cuckoo’s call echoing across the Begwns this week was poignant. We take bird song for granted. Here in the hills above Hay on Wye, with very little sound pollution, it’s easy to identify many birds. Our world would be so much the poorer without them. A flash of yellow as I feed the hens- a yellow hammer, taking advantage of any dropped seed.
Above, the chattering of swallows at last as they check out last year’s nest. Moments later- a curlew, its shrill call sharp, swiftly followed by the hammering of a woodpecker.
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