The dig
We are greeted, on our morning dog walk down to the river, with quite a cacophony of sounds. Leading the charge are the thrushes. There are a number perched high on top of the chestnuts, easily spotted on the leafless branches, calling out a series of repetitive screeches and squawks. It’s not at all musical, I’m not sure why they are called song thrushes. They are joined by the more pleasant warbles of the robins and wrens, the flute-like song…