On this frosty morning we have been standing still for so long that our feet are numb. We’re trying to be unobtrusive – a word often used to describe the bird that’s making the dead grasses shake. Eventually, the dunnock hops into view, climbing a swaying stem, intent on reaching dangling clusters of stinging nettle seeds. It’s so close that we could almost reach out and touch it.
How often have we walked past dunnocks, which so often forage mouse-like under a hedge, without pausing to appreciate their exquisite plumage? This one has a collar of blue-grey feathers and chestnut wings streaked with black, blending perfectly with dead leaves in the depths of winter. It’s using its pointed beak with precision, like fine forceps, but for every seed it grips, several more cascade to the ground. When it turns its head into the sunlight, its eye becomes a glowing amber circlet around a pupil of polished jet.
