The Same Blue Doves Which I Had Known
For Three Years At That Spot!
A few more steps and I came
upon as pretty a little scene in bird life as one could wish
for:
Twenty to twenty-five small birds of different species
- tits, wrens, dunnocks, thrushes, blackbirds, chaffinches,
yellowhammers - were congregated on the lower outside twigs of
a bramble bush and on the bare ground beside it close to the
foot of the wall. The sun shone full on that spot, and they
had met for warmth and for company. The tits and wrens were
moving quietly about in the bush; others were sitting idly or
preening their feathers on the twigs or the ground. Most of
them were making some kind of small sound - little exclamatory
chirps, and a variety of chirrupings, producing the effect of
a pleasant conversation going on among them. This was
suddenly suspended on my appearance, but the alarm was soon
over, and, seeing me seated on a fallen stone and, motionless,
they took no further notice of me. Two blackbirds were there,
sitting a little way apart on the bare ground; these were
silent, the raggedest, rustiest-looking members of that little
company; for they were moulting, and their drooping wings and
tails had many unsightly gaps in them where the old feathers
had dropped out before the new ones had grown. They were
suffering from that annual sickness with temporary loss of
their brightest faculties which all birds experience in some
degree; the unseasonable rains and cold winds had been bad for
them, and now they were having their sun-bath, their best
medicine and cure.
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