Sunday 4th February
I’m sure that the great tits don’t actually know where I sleep, but one appears at my bedroom window, sitting for a moment on the broken stone work that was torn away by the falling shutter. He peers in the window and gives a demanding, chirrupy cry, as if to say, “up you get, the feeders are all empty, you’ve usually re-filled them …
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Between to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.