"There is in all census work one very difficult period, which is only a question mark at present even in the most detailed studies. What happens between the end of the breeding season and the fall of the leaves ? Everything conspires against the bird watcher at this time. His enthusiasm usually wanes at the end of spring: he may be genuinely tired if he is an early-morning watcher. The vegetation thickens almost daily, song ceases, and then comes the annual holiday season for human families and probably absence from home for several weeks. In early autumn you may be interested in migration, perhaps the migration of exciting species of waders, and the Blackbirds and Thrushes are forgotten. Yet it is in these forgotten months that startling changes must be taking place in the numbers of birds. The juveniles meet with heavy casualties and there are migratory movements, perhaps only locally but nevertheless important. When the curtain rises again on a leafless countryside, we find that numbers are much as they were at thes tart ofthe breeding season. Until someone is persistent and ingenious enough to solve the difficulty of the late summer census, the most puzzling quarter of the land-bird's year will remain largely a mystery. Lots to think about there then .... and it came from the same interesting book I wrote about in the previous post. In which almost all "bird-watchers" are male. And now, of course, 'tis music time ... Les Discrets ... "Ariettes oubliées" And refreshingly, it has nowt to do with any sort of Census. [Written by Paul Verlaine][ Not me] Je devine, à travers un murmure, Le contour subtil des voix anciennes Et dans les lueurs musiciennes, Amour pâle, une aurore future ! Et mon âme et mon coeur en délires Ne sont plus qu'une espèce d'oeil double Où tremblote à travers un jour trouble L'ariette, hélas ! de toutes lyres ! O mourir de cette mort seulette Que s'en vont - cher amour qui t'épeures - Balançant jeunes et vieilles heures, O mourir de cette escarpolette ! [unofficial translation:][Not mine] "Forgotten Ariettas" I divine behind a whisper The subtle rustling of the ancient voices And, in the musical glimmers, Ô pale love, the future of a sunrise! And my soul and heart upside down, No longer are but some kind of a double eye, Which flickers through an uncertain day The arietta, alas! Of every lyre ! Ô dying like this all alone, As , leaving - dear frightening love - Swinging young and old hours, Ô dying of this swing. Here's a few links to some of my " survey articles" .... such as they are ... 53-strange-things-happen.html 96-ways-to-cheat-with-bird-survey-1.html 97-another-way-to-cheat-in-bird-surveys.html ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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AuthorThat's the author up there ... I was young and sprightly then. Archives
October 2022
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