Spider and Fly

I noticed a spider’s thread glistening in the light across the window. The daylight picked out the thread. It did not appear part of a web, though it could have been in the process of being made. Now I see, the web is a poor thing, and the spider looks like an ordinary garden spider with stripy legs. The design may look bad to me, but is clearly effective. For while I watch, a fly has become entangled in the line and the spider hurried across and has snatched at his prey and bound it over and over again, until it ceased struggling and is no more than a white-shrouded victim. The spider then retired to the side of his web and sat there. A second insect was quickly trapped and dealt with in the same manner as the first. The spider moved him to the edge of the web, then went back to the first victim and brought him to the same spot as the second one, and appears to be, while holding it with his front legs, sucking dry the second victim. One insect less for the bats, three types of which fly over the garden at night. The spider now satiated sits fatly on the side of his web.

Autumn Changes

We are traveling along the A10 to Addenbrookes. The hawthorne berries are hanging heavy on the may trees, weighing down the branches. Whether it is a sign of a hard winter to come, or not, I am unsure, but I do know that it bodes well for our feathered friends. Large bunches of sycamore keys, prettily pale green, and so prolific standing out from the darker green leaves of the tree, each bunch settled lower than their adjacent leaves. I just noticed the beautiful blue-black of the sloe berries thickly filling the spaces along their prickly, leafy branches.

This summer, my life changed. At the end of May I was diagnosed with a form of lung cancer, it is caused by a gene mutation (why? how? I don’t know, but would be interested to), and interestingly primarily affects non-smoking women. I don’t know what my future holds now. I do know that although my flesh may be weak my spirit is strong and I shall fight this with all my might. I am a strong person and have my family firmly behind me. I will continue with my nature notes. Writing them has given me much pleasure, and to know at the same time, they are giving pleasure to my readers makes it all the more special.

The rose bay willow herb flowers are over, and instead we have whirls of feathery seeds, all intermingled with the down of the thistles, which grow hard against them.

Summer Fades to Autumn

We are on our way to Addenbrookes, but this time not on the pretty A10. Because we had to drop off a prescription at the doctor’s office we will be taking the M11.

Although it is lunchtime, a layer of mist lays low across the meadows. It is that time of year when summer gives way to autumn and bright autumn berries mingle with pretty summer roses. The leaves on horse chestnut trees are brown, and the prickly green conker cases are clearly visible.

A surprisingly short show of Himalayan Balsam edges a pond. I have seen these plants standing tall before, but here they are densely packed, prettily pink and white, only 2-3 feet high.

My month away from home has wrought many changes. Today I saw a young hedgehog wandering the garden and hurried out to feed him. He ate speedily and then set off across the lawn to a birdbath, climbed up on the side and leaned over to have a long drink. He surprised me by climbing right into the birdbath and just standing there. He did drink while in the water, but the majority of the time he just stood. Eventually he climbed out and sat grooming himself for ages.

The fields are looking bare. The harvest has been gathered in and fields that have not been already ploughed have only stubble remaining. Great flocks of birds are either settled gleaning goodies or flying low over the fields perhaps searching for future meals.

An abundance of windfall apples litter the motorway verges and here and there a pheasant fallen prey to the speed of vehicles.

The flower heads on the ivy look beautiful. They are thick this year and form a dense covering that completely obscures the ivy leaves below.

A Weasel & Thin Squirrels

It’s Friday night. All week I’ve been away from home, with thoughts of the weasel darting and chasing through my head. Now, I stand in my kitchen; look down to the pond, and like magic he appears. My grandson sees him: “It is the first time I’ve ever seen a weasel alive and not running across a road”, he says. "He looks a bit like a sausage with one end raised up". I can’t take my eyes off this pretty scampering fellow. Back and forth across the lawn, round and about the pond, in and out of the geraniums, he appears and disappears so quick – he’s so sprightly. While we’re still enjoying his capering fun he disappears up the bank and leaves us elated, but bereft. Happy to have seen him and so sad he’s gone.

Along the A10, the roadside verges have changed. They are almost totally different. The heavy rain showers of late have greened the grass and caused a new outcrop of wild flowers. We passed a massive colony of rose bay willow herb still standing purple and proud, but the crowd of thistles in front was smothered in a thick layer of down. It had been broken at the edges by the insistent wind, carrying the seeds off to pastures new. As a child, I collected this down and made doll’s pillows and mattresses for my sisters’ dolls with it.

The thin squirrels are insistently banging on the windows asking for food – summer is their hardest time. And more squirrels starve to death at this time of year than most people realize. Happily, while I’ve been away, my son has fed them.