1 January 1918 It was from a food-hunting flock of tits, vigorously working from tree to tree, that a terrific tit indifferent itself with harsh cries of alarm
The birds are usually not sentimental; the loss of life of the outdated yr, the passing of time, doesn’t fear them. They know that winter is a strenuous season, for meals is tough to seek out and each beakful means a search; maybe they really feel at instances that the times are lengthening and are stirred by the promise of higher instances, however past that the shut of 1 yr and the opening of the following haven’t any that means. It was from a food-hunting flock of tits, vigorously working from tree to tree, that a terrific tit indifferent itself with harsh cries of alarm. It got here down from the higher twigs, dropping from bough to bough, till, nonetheless scolding, it was simply above my head, and there, jerking its physique back and forth, it made emphatic remarks in tit language. Mr. Hudson, in Birds and Man, tells how some Surrey goldcrests mobbed him as a result of, he believed they mistook his tweed cap for a coiled-up cat. If this tit made an identical mistake it was absolutely short-sighted; I’m reasonably inclined to the view that it had, even so early, felt the primary vernal instincts that transfer the birds to hunt mates and hunt for appropriate nesting websites, and which later trigger them to look upon intruders within the woods as potential enemies.
Associated: Goldcrest combs the gorse for slender pickings