Autumn leaves for winter

Please forgive the pun in the title. Once it arose, it could not be resisted. Here is a view from a garden in the countryside last weekend:

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More leaves, same garden:

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This blue tit spent a lot of time flitting about in the tree outside my window yesterday. Plenty of green-leaf cover for this time of year!

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Edited to include this (cropped) photo of a seal that watched me watching it in Galway Bay a few weeks ago:

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Finally, a church window that seems to be wearing headphones after a recent shower:

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I have a few longer posts half written, but their completion will have to wait: I’m currently bedevilled by a head cold that has left me incapable of thinking properly. Luckily, though, my ability to see imaginary DJs on the sides of buildings has not been impaired.

Although my writing has been severely curtailed, my Twittering has not. It will take more than an eruption of sniffing, sneezing, snuffling and snorting to stop me micro-blogging. So if you want to pass a few idle moments, you’ll find links and more on my Twitter page. What passes for normal service on Sentence first will soon be resumed.

In praise of cormorants

This sculpture by John Coll is one of my favourite pieces of street art in Galway. Anyone who has spent time in the city will appreciate the iconographic status of the resident cormorants drying their wings in the Atlantic breezes. (Sometimes the sun even comes out to help.)

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Swanlike boat, boatlike swan

Swanlike boat:

Boatlike swan:

These two photos and the next one were taken last weekend in Galway, Ireland. Photos no.4 to 6 are a bit older. Post edited to add two more photos, one from yesterday and one from March.

Here’s where the boat was (view from Nimmo’s Pier):

Secure broadband connection not guaranteed

Abandoned corners are not usually so colourful. I hope this one remains abandoned to whatever creatures and vegetation can eke out a life in there.

Seagull semiotics

If I were a gull, I would probably puzzle over this sign too.

[Photograph taken in Limerick, Ireland.]

The love life of pigeons

Step 1: Choose a romantic setting. Somewhere outdoors, perhaps, such as beside the sea on a sunny day.

(Subjects in centre of photograph; click to enlarge.)

Step 2: Flirt a little. If male, circle female, bow, puff feathers, drag tail, chase female, shuffle about, coo romantically (using a pidgin).

If female, continue what you were doing for a while. Then, if you like him, join in the dance. Place bill inside male’s bill, bob heads together.

If all goes well, proceed to step 3.

Step 3: If male, stand on female. If female, grin and bear it for a few seconds.

Step 4: Regain composure and prepare for a lifetime of monogamous dove love.

To find out more, have a look here (scroll down for courtship ritual).

Ducks, dragons, and dictionaries

On my wanderings today I saw a murder of crows, a murmuration of starlings, and a sord of mallards on a boat (pictured); and although I saw a heron, it was unaccompanied so I can’t truthfully say I saw a siege of them. Nor did I see a charm of finches or an unkindness of ravens, but the day is still young.

Living on the Atlantic coast brings me into regular contact with a variety of sea and city birds. In the case of the more timid birds “contact” is an exaggeration, but a gentle tread and a zoom lens help shorten the distance. Other birds are more sociable. Last year I met a swan so sociable it almost ate my thumb along with the wholewheat loaf I offered it. Maybe it had a craving for a meat sandwich. That was in Swantown, better known as The Claddagh:

With its human-swan metamorphoses, The Children of Lir (versions here and here) was one of many Irish legends that entranced me in childhood. Back then these stories felt more real and historical, and were not quickly classified as “mere fiction”. Far from it: I remember feeling fierce disappointment upon being told that dragons did not exist. If that’s so, I thought, how does everyone know what they look like? And why are they in the dictionary? Needless to say, I was too young for Jung.

The idea of definition fascinated me and took me on random pursuits of meaning through the pages of my pocket English dictionary. I puzzled over the inevitable cul-de-sacs and epistemological ambiguities, though that’s not what I called them. The end section of the book opened up further avenues of intrigue, not least its geographical and natural lists. I knew the heights of the highest mountains and the lengths of the longest rivers.

But the list that tickled me most was the one of collective nouns for animals and birds. How odd and evocative these terms were! Who ever thought of a shrewdness of apes, or an exaltation of larks, and why? If you like, you can read similar lists compiled by Narena Olliver and the Oxford University Press, and some well-informed and light-hearted commentary by Terry Ross and Michael Quinion.

A quick note on stonechats before I disappear outdoors again. They are small birds of 11.5–13cm length, about the size of a robin. They are named after their alarm call, which sounds like two small stones clacking together. They also sing. Stonechats build nests of moss and grass on or near the ground, then they make them cosier with wool and feathers. To protect themselves from predation they like rough land such as heathland, and coastal terrain with good cover, such as that provided by furze (gorse) and other dense shrubbery.

The male (above, right) is a colourful fellow, especially in summer, with a black head, orange-red breast, and white patches on his neck, wings, lower belly and rump. The female (above, left) looks similar but with a brown head, less bold breast colour, and less clearly defined white patches on her neck. They’re beautiful creatures, don’t you think? I took those photos on separate days, so for those of you wondering, I don’t know whether there is a romantic connection between the subjects. More to the point, I haven’t found a collective noun for them. Any suggestions? If I hear one I like, I’ll start using it!