The book that is simply called "Birds" sits on the windowsill in our kitchen, battered and stained, over 40 years old; still providing bits of information that can light up your life on a dull winter's day. Where did this book come from? A second-hand shop I expect, it has been around so long nobody remembers who bought it, it is much older than the house we live in. It is a well-made, robust hardback, but it is mostly left unopened and neglected until those exciting days when a rare avian visitor hops into the garden, or one of us spots a previously unknown bird while strolling around in the park. Examples: well, the jay is a rare visitor, it comes maybe once or twice when the nuts are down on the ground from the oak tree; below is the page of "Birds" that covers the jay. In the park the gray heron is an interesting sight, standing like a statue beside the canal or the river, waiting patiently for the moment when it can strike and seize a passing fish. These sort of rare sightings are reassuring; otherwise you can begin to believe that local bird life consists only of the intrusive magpies, pigeons, crows and seagulls, all of whom remind you all too easily that dinosaurs were their ancestors, though some smaller birds are regulars: the robin, blackbirds and coal tits. "Birds" is a reference book, one that enriches your life maybe four or five days a year when you see something new,
and, for that, well worth whatever someone paid for it back in the 1970s!
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