Joys of Winter

I've got a flock of long-tailed tits today, too - they've emptied the bird bath with their enthusiastic dipping and feather-ruffling, so I've just been out to fill it up again. There were 6 paddling around, while their friends waited nearby for their turn. Lovely.

I love this thread, but living in London I have not so much to add to it. No Siskins or Redpolls, just pigeons and seagulls(we are not far from the Thames). However I can say ther is a huge bush of jasmine outside my door and the smell of it is divine. I can't remember it being out at this time of year in the past.

There's a flock of long-tailed tits in the garden this morning. Memo to self: pick up a pack of birdseed for the feeder.

Thank you for the flowers - it was a grand night and I'm still recovering!

butternut - wonderfully evocative poem. We do have some talented grans, don't we?

supernana butternut

Last night through
Dripping mists and windy lanes
We arrived.
Torches in hand
We picked our way through
Brambles, bracken and a creaking gate
Noses twitching
To wood smoke
And tantalising smells.

Golden windows, candles, pots of food
Fiddle, Banjo and Mandolin played
Tartan scarves and jaunty hats danced
All were there to greet us
With smiling eyes and warm hugs
....... and what a party we had!

....a bonnie picture, supernana.

A chameleon-like day
Constanly changing -
Moody grey clouds
Spurred on by angry winds
Nudge each other across
A sullen sky.
Mighty white-topped breakers
Seek refuge on the silent shore.
Bronze bracken clings fast to razor-sharp rocks
A brooding burn
Cuts a dash through banks of heather.
And then -
Clouds drift away to other corners of the endless sky -
Now baby powder-blue.
The ocean pales and glints with sparks of light
Bracken shimmers
The burn chuckles -
A chameleon-like day
In bonnie Scotland.

We have a freshly swept chimney, so have a roaring fire this evening. Leeks and potatoes from the allotment turned into delicious soup with home made bread rolls warm from the oven for lunch - and a dinner of meat and veg casseroled and washed down with a few glasses of bubbly alongside my favourite person in the whole world. A calm oasis in the sea of life. (If you don't mind me mixing my metaphors - blame it on the bubbly.)

My slow cooked chicken and vegetables are ready and the smell is delicious. No potatoes with them, just some chunks of fresh baguette.

I'm just about to bite into another slice of broonie.

Broonie is in the oven and I'm settling down to a while I watch Strictly, and before I tackle the chaos of the kitchen. Did I ever mention that I am the world's messiest cook? . Smells fantastic, btw.

Bagitha mmmm We are all much wiser now.

No Annobel, I just copied and pasted that from Wikipedia. I believe you can get a Greek font, but remembering which key does which letter is probably tricky.

This'll clear it up. One of our Latin dictionaries says graculus means a jackdaw, "from its note gra gra". The Latin name for jackdaw is Corvus monedula. The other Latin dictionary says graculus means a jay also "from its note gra gra, and probably also a jackdaw", and this one mentions Pliny. The Latin name for a jay is Corvus glandarius. So, there you are, clear as mud.

Greatnan your winning poem evokes such lovely childhood memories for me, and one I had forgotten until now - that of my mum making mince pies on Christmas Eve, flinging flour everywhere but in the mixing bowl, with her second glass of annual sherry placed quietly at her side by my bemused dad. We four children gathered round, giggling as dad signalled us to 'shush!'

Good work, Elegran! Have you got Greek characters on your computer?

Wikipedia says "The genus name is derived from Ancient Greek πύρρος (purrhos), "flame-coloured", and κόραξ (korax), "raven"" but as you say, the Alpine or Yellow-billed Chough is Pyrrocorax graculus

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chough

jessM, corax is, as far as I remember, Greek for crow, but I'm puzzled about the 'pyrrho' prefix - don't think it means red billed because the yellow billed one is also pyrrhocorax. If it had to do with 'fire' it would be 'pyro' as in pyrotechnic.

Greatnan for a wonderful poem. Love it because it reflects the Christmas I knew and enjoyed so much.

In 1974 I was teaching in Birkenhead and I entered this poem in a Christmas verse competition on Granada Reports (the 6.30 pm. TV local news and magazine programme). It won, out of 50,000 entries and that did more for my standing with my pupils than any of my qualifications!

Christmas, 1947.

Christmas was apples, nuts and tangerines,
Sweet and juicy, in tissue paper,
Scarce enough to be a treat,
A yearly miracle.

Christmas was a book, a jigsaw and a baking set
Not well hidden in mum's bottom drawer..
Christmas was playing with them carefully,
But still believing they came on Christmas Eve.

Christmas was a party in the classroom,
Hard ice buns, free milk and sticky sweets.
Father Egan's voice behind a white beard
And Mother Anna's tight mouth, smiling.

Christmas was 'The Vimto Book of Knowledge'
Proper books for school-fund bringers,
A childish bitterness, not forgotten,
Shaping a childish mind, resentfully.

Christmas was the smell of whiskey on the milkman's breath,
Mum with an unaccustomed sherry flush
Midnight Mass, believed profoundly
Candles, incense and a swelling choir -
'Gloria in Excelsis Deo'.

I think it won because it was different from the usual saccharine views of Christmas

i meant firebill as in funeral pyre...