Moai brownbird

This is one of the persecuted blackbirds in the garden, probably the one we rescued from the dominant female a few weeks ago.  She's perched on a carved stone head that was a gift from a distant relative of Caroline in East Yorkshire.  He carved a number of these and under cover of darkness left them scattered around Bishop Wilton.  I don't think it was what he intended, but they caused a fair amount of disquiet, particularly in those whose property they were left on.  

C has been out most of the day, seeing and helping friends.  I stayed at home to keep Gus company.  In my last couple of posts I've avoided mention of the Russian invasion of Ukraine.  But today, home alone (but for Gus) it's been more unsettling listening to the news coverage, and worrying about the plight of the people caught up in an existential conflict that is not of their making.  And I've been brooding too about what it means for all of us.  At times like this, watching blackbirds in the garden can feel so trivial, it seems nonsensical writing about it here, yet on the other hand, it's an important distraction, and more, an anchor to better times and a saner world.  It made me think of the British PoWs who took solace during the hardship of their captivity by meticulously watching and recording birds from their prison camp (link).  One of them, Peter Conder, went on to be head of the RSPB, overseeing a big increase in their membership and helping to establish them as a hugely influential campaigning body.