Rupert Evershed
A woodcock Scolopax rusticola by Serkan Mutan (Shutterstock)
- Credit: Shutterstock
If spring warmth with May blossom and birdsong defines that moment when we say, “Ah, it is now spring!” then winter finds its counterpart in chill woodland walks: scuffling leaf-fall, cracking twigs, mud and damp, damp, damp.
They are the default for winter, broken only by the magic of snowfall or the unexpected joyfulness of mistle thrushes in song.
‘Trudging’ is a good word for winter – either through leaves, wet grass or heavy mud. In no other season do we give so much attention to where we place our feet, for one step wrong and we can be upended and find ourselves seated in the mire. And yet, strangely, it is also the season when I am most likely to nearly tread on a bird!