To Crystal Palace park, one in every of south London’s best. Solar on my again, birdsong in my ears. Spring is within the air, demanding consideration. “See me, hear me. Scent me!”
There have been geese. There have been geese. There was a heron, loitering with intent to kill. There’s nothing extra nonetheless than a heron. Statues go to them for recommendation.
On the fringe of the small wooden, I hear a sound to make the pinnacle snap up. Tsee-tsee-tsee-tsee-tsee-tsee-TSEE. Quick, excessive, rising barely. A firecrest.
Very good fowl, the firecrest. Tiny, pugnacious, hyperactive. Extra widespread than they was, however nonetheless, for me, a “Expensive diary, you’ll by no means guess what I noticed” fowl. The sound comes once more. I hint it, observe it. And now I’m within the midst of a brouhaha. As a result of the firecrest has competitors. A goldcrest, matching its rival in tininess and pugnacity. They face off towards one another in a sycamore simply above my head, so shut I might attain out and seize them, however so caught up of their indignation that they appear unaware of my presence.
It’s not clear who’s encroaching on whom, however their mutual antipathy crackles within the air. They circle one another, bristling. It’s a territorial dispute as previous as time – widespread sufficient in nesting season. However for all of the ferocity on present – the vitality they emit might gasoline the grid for every week – this can be a playground struggle. Shouting, posturing, theatrical arm-waving, however no bodily contact of any type. Scaled up, it might be terrifying, however this conflict of tiny rage-bundles performs out like a puppet present, a livid stream of cheeps and skwees, staccato wing flaps, flaring of amber crests.
They’re cousins, these two species. And you understand how it’s with household. Extra in widespread than divides them. I need to inform them it’s not value it. Simply compromise on the disputed territory, settle your variations, go for a pint. You’ll thank me in the long term.
I don’t get the possibility. Flying over my head, they take their mutual grievance into the timber reverse after which deeper into the wooden, leaving an odd and uneasy peace behind them.
