‘The isle is full of noises …….

…. Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.’ 

I’ve always loved the words of Caliban, Shakespeare’s ‘Nobel savage’, as he describes the beauties of the island on which they are shipwrecked in The Tempest.  Of course, I’m not shipwrecked, but Conwy’s reserve is certainly one of my much-needed refuges in the current storm. 

I’m walking slowly back to the car when the air around is full of tiny noises - enchanted whispering whistles in the trees above me, breathy songs that rise and fall, changing directing as I spot rustlings in the leaves and almost imperceptible flights between the branches. I know they’re there, these tiny, magical creatures, but they’re determined to elude me. 

I decide to take an unfamiliar path which leads to ponds not visited before, and there’s a flurry of activity; I seem to have discovered the secret playground of this little group of long tail fledglings. I’ve disturbed their water play, and find those too slow to quickly vanish, perched on reeds to dry their wings, their tiny red-ringed eyes surprised by my intrusion. 

Seeing these - let alone photographing them, is such a rarity for me that I have to include a few extras. 

But for this, there are monitoring blood tests and an ECG, and I pick up some anti-nausea tablets which should help. On the positive side, the headache seems a little better! 

Thanks once more for your lovely comments and support!