Bespectacled and precariously perched upon a branch,
he sits and waits until it’s time. Skillfully
striking, he winds his prey to shore then flaps
away, a lumbering flight of bone and grey.
On an afternoon walk today we realised a heron, a bird that always demands attention.
(27.09.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Patrice Bouchard on Unsplash
Eternally on the wing, the swift circles
and weaves in dreams of constant summer blue.
Here, trapped in two dimensions, I can’t conceive
how it must feel to never touch the ground;
to eat, to sleep, to meet, conceive and sing
all lacking sense of permanence below.
It sounds so liberating yet exhausting,
expansive yet without the roots called home.
Common? No, she is extraordinary.
The last couple of days the air had been filled with the sight and sound of swifts on the wing. Amazing birds (see https://www.rspb.org.uk/birds-and-wildlife/swift)
(08.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
He stood so still, I almost didn’t spot him.
Once, his coat was like the one your mother
bought you, saying you’ll grow into it;
he has. Its scruffy now, its tatty edges stretching, fresh orange feathers finally poking through.
Whilst manhood beckons, he has so much to learn.
He eyes me quizzically, wondering if I can
be trusted, if I am a threat. I’m not.
Decision made we stand there eye to eye,
two fellow creatures looking soul to soul.
I’m held until he breaks his gaze, and twitching,
skips into the shade of a nearby waiting bush.
We have a juvenile robin in our garden at the moment, with whom I exchanged a precious moment this morning.
(02.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
This year I got in early
and started ‘No Mow May’ in
January. Now the grass
is tufty and embedded
with dandelion splashes.
It might not win awards
or have those tasteful stripes,
but the birds all seem to love it
and that’s a prize to me.
As spring erupts, our garden’s come to life. First thing the lawn’s awash with birds, pecking for food and heating material.
(12.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Each dusk they fly in flocks
Across the inky sky
A gathering murmuration
And as the starlings gather
Bats begin to flit
And weave their frantic patterns
This transit brings to mind
Another distant view
The passing of the sun
We gathered in your garden
Equipped with tinted glasses
To watch the solar eclipse
Back then, as now, the birds
Flew across the horizon
Going home to roost
But soon it’s time for you
To take to wing and pass
Go heading home to roost
Fly safely, my old friend,
Through this liminal place
And soon the sun will shine
The starlings are massing as night falls.
(08.04.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Jan Haerer on Unsplash
The conversation of the birds echoes
beneath the ancient woodland canopy.
We turn our searching eyes upwards to check on
the source of these trill tongues, but alas, they flee.
A hint of movement flits amongst the leaves,
a trace of colour or suggestive shape:
the twitching of the leaves caught in the breeze
or shadow of the bird as it escapes?
We close our eyes and stand as still as we
are able to and try to disappear,
perhaps our feathered friends will sense our plea,
and stepping forwards, finally lose their fear.
In time the individuals will emerge,
if you attend to the conversation of the birds.
Birdwatching in the woods can be a frustrating affair, so often they remain out of sight, but careful listening can lead to individuals appearing from the chorus.
(02.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Tom Bradley on Unsplash
(Edit: swapped the last two lines around, much better for this simple switch! 03.03.23)
In wonder, we walk these woodland worlds,
That groan beneath green garlands of moss.
This verdant dressing, vivid and vibrant,
Drapes the boughs and cloaks their branches.
Tacking across our track, a trickling
Stream carves stripes into our path,
Whilst, circling up above, black corvids
Caw at red kites above the castle.
Is this a place where faeries frolic,
Fearless in their velvet kingdom?
Today we walked the third chain of the Hertfordshire Chain Walk (we’re going back to do the second another day). At times the landscape was quite magical.
(01.02.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
We suddenly became aware of
his lonesome presence not far away.
Perfectly still, he perched mere metres
from where we sat behind the glass.
He gazed disdainfully at us through
his alien eyes, dismissing us,
before, with a casual flick of his feathers,
launching himself from the plum tree branch.
We had an unexpected visitor in the garden the other day.
(20.12.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo Muséum de Toulouse, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Seeking solace in numbers, they flock together,
Perched on the edge of clefts and aisles and chairs,
Whilst down below their mates peck through the clothes.
Though close, they never acknowledge each other’s presence,
Except perhaps a brief shared nod between them,
In recognition of their mutual plight.
And as each female emerges to the flock,
They twitter, preening hair, and staking claims,
Puffing their chests and hoping that she’s theirs.
There’s always great people watching to be had in shopping centres…
(28.09.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Denver Saldanha on Unsplash
The sky is wakened
by the urgent chatter
of sparrows bouncing
back and forth.
I can only see a few
but their chorus fills
my morning ears
and stirs me from
my slumbers.
They loiter in the bushes,
kicking cans and
and smoking joints, but
these avian urchins,
these hedgerow ragamuffins,
these cheeky chappies,
are anything but common
– they are the heralds
of the morn!
Pouring my morning cup of tea today, the air was suddenly
filled with the sound of sparrows singing; rowdy but beautiful.
(10.05.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Jacques LE HENAFF on Unsplash
Ode for the Day 