There was a sprinkling of snowflakes just as I leave the house but I’m not deterred. While I know the changing of clocks is meaningless, it still gives me a feeling of urgency to get into the woods.

Pushing open the gate in the icy wind, I look up and see redwings moving surreptiously from tree to tree overhead. There’s a noticeable reduction in birdsong this morning, a robin huddling on a lichen-crusted twig seems unwilling to waste any energy on frivolities.

I lurk at the side of the old railway track, hands deep in pockets waiting to see and hear what’s around.  It feels distinctly wintery.

“What do you think of magpies?” a man asks as he whisks his young family past me at the requisite two metres, while eyeing up my camera.   “Necessary?” I proffer gingerly, wondering where this is going.  “But they eat everything else”, he throws over this shoulder. Judgement made… and willed to the next generation.

The fizzy song of a blackcap erupts, it’s glorious, energetic and acrobatic pattern demanding my full attention.  I’ve been hearing them in the woods just this last week and suspect these are proper migrants rather than their over-wintering brothers.

I’m hopeful that this cold snap won’t be a problem for them. As one of our more adaptable warblers, they should be able to take advantage of garden bird food at least in the short-term if the insect numbers are affected by the cold.