A red-letter day

It has been something of a red-letter day, thanks to a pair of long overdue encounters on my local patch. As normal, I left home in darkness, heading out to the forest where I exercise the dogs with an early morning run. Passing through the wedge of arable land that sits between town and forest I stumbled across a barn owl. Its pale form stood out from the disappearing darkness like some wondrous spirit, as if absorbing the slowly-brightening half-light of early morning. This bird was so pale that it had to be a male and I had inadvertently flushed it from the rather battered hedgerow that bordered the road. On the wing the bird became more ethereal, seemingly all wing and very little body. The broad, rounded wings enable the owl to move through the air with an almost silent and effortless ease; many a time when botanising I have been surprised by a barn owl passing silently over my head, quartering the ground for small mammal prey. To see such a bird at close quarters, especially in the soft, understated light of daybreak, always sends a shiver through my body. It is a shiver of delight and not one of fear, even though owls have always been associated with the supernatural and sometimes feared as harbingers of ill-fortune. However, as this owl slipped away across the field and out of view it brought me not ill-luck but good fortune.

Less than an hour later, as I was rounding a bend in the forest ride, the dogs stiffened and stood erect, their eyes fixed ahead. Catching up with them, my gaze fell upon a group of four fallow deer, the first I had seen in this patch of forest for many years and the first live ones I had encountered for some months (there is a stretch of road to the south of Thetford where I often see the sad remains of fallow hit by motor vehicles). These four were all does, three of the dark form and one of the white form more often seen in deer parks. The dogs know well enough not to chase but were clearly unsettled by the deer. The fallow were equally unsure, standing quite still and watching us intently; the first movement from me or the dogs and they would be off. We could only have remained motionless for a dozen or so seconds but the encounter seemed timeless and I was able to take in the delicate beauty of their form and the deep intensity of their stares. Then they were gone, off the track and into the undergrowth, and the moment had passed. To have two such encounters made it a very special day.