2/5/06 - Keswick

Our kitchen window is a portal onto the changes of weather over Falcon Crag and Walla Crag - I pad in there bleary-eyed, befuddled - the first thing I see are the low clouds over each, the highest cap and crest obscured - strange contortions of white and grey against the chocolate earth - some goliath - that great architecture of granite, mosses, heather - whilst below the great invasion continues; the silver car hordes, the 4x4 barbarians, and the coach-loaded troops all cruising for their packaged wilderness, lining the avenues and open spaces with their vehicles and sleeping expressions; beauty and the beasts - there is no liberty in this wilderness come Bank Holiday - here they disturb the Treecreepers with their dogs and stick-wielding children playing Lord of the Flies for a minute or two, dropping sweet wrappers whilst their parents smile and chatter in their newly acquired country-wear, designer labeled for the weekend squire - the brief flash of sunlight drawing them out like gnats -

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Robins displaying in the dense, all-pervasive rain. It glitters. It spits. Clouds shifting steadily eastward. And this bird throwing his head back and puffing out his breast toward a smaller female who appears only vaguely interested. The male repeats his action adding a thrust of his tail upwards for good measure - another male joins in the dance and these two enter a flurry of spinning combat low to the bushes whilst the female shoves off -

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Up to an outcrop of rock high above Derwentwater in the shadow of Walla Crag. Over to our right Bassenthwaite is bright in the descending sun. Deep within the mixed woodland behind us a woodpecker taps. A female mallard appears at the north end of the rocks, gingerly waddling her way toward us. It is difficult to work out why she is up here. There is no nest, little food, and it is a fair distance from the lake. She is not afraid of us and checks us out close up, presumably for scraps of food - only occasionally does she dabble where the rocks thin exposing mud and some tufts of grass. Then she walks round the little concrete information post marked with the heights and locations of the various surrounding hills and pikes and close to the edge, just above the tops of the trees, she waits quacking quietly. A few minutes later the male appears, flying fast up from the direction of the crag itself; he arcs across moving left to right, calls once and she flies after him. They fly together then in a huge circle around the outcrop once, twice, then they veer away and descend toward the lake where they fly alongside each other before coming back over our heads and landing together at the tip of the outcrop. The male watches us, upright and proud, displaying his verdant head and stout umber breast. Neither of them seems particularly disturbed by our presence and they continue their foraging. Far below a group of Greylag geese land announcing their arrival loudly. The sun appears from behind low cloud over Barf, the edges of Bassenthwaite and Derwentwater beneath Swinside turn gold for the shortest moment. Within seconds the dusk-calls start - a song thrush, blackbirds and chaffinch in the roadside gorse -