Geese

We sat in our sunroom until after five yesterday evening with the room still warm from late sunshine and watched as skein after skein of pink-footed geese flew over heading south to their night roosts.

As each skein merged into the gathering dusk we thought it must be the last but more and yet more flew over. We know when they're passing overhead as they call, not all at once but in a never-ending conversation, perhaps as they urge each other on, fading only as the last skein passes.

Then, this morning, as we set out for our walk, they started coming over again, following the coastline north. I have tried to count this multiple skein and estimate that there are at least five hundred individuals.

Most pass over in these huge groups but there are often smaller ones - these ones heading in the wrong direction although some peeled off and turned north to follow the larger group.

Every time we hear them we stop and look up, feeling that we are very privileged to be watching a wildlife spectacle, with the thought that, as the winter deepens and from past experience, the day will come when we suddenly realise we are no longer hearing their calls.