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The grey sky has descended nearly to the birch tops. Silence. Only from the farm far away the listless crawing of a crow and the short chatter of magpies are heard. Suddenly a sparrowhawk appears from the crown of the nearest fir tree and heads towards the village. True, there should be more birds, and we too start walking in the same direction. Again only the swishing of falling aspen leaves is to be heard. Suddenly there is a twittering because a flock of redpolls – having taken flight somewhere – lands on the mugworts at the edge of the waste land and the birds diligently start looking for food. There seem to be seeds, but few, and the restless company rises in flight again and turns to the watery stand of alders.

In the field we meet yellowhammers and field sparrows, further away house sparrows chirp. At the house bullfinches nibble at lilac seeds. A little further away a blackbird tousles the fallen maple leaves and a company of great tits are busy at the bird feeder in an apple tree. Only little food has been set out there to start with, sensibly enough, the gutsy fat-tits don’t need more just now. Some beakfuls are picked up, then it is time to hurry on accompanied by busy calling.