Ian, my ranger partner, was distanced from me and searching for visual evidence of bird life, while I stood and drank in the tranquil scene. That spring was here was a thought that was, two hours later, as in a blizzard of hail in greying, cloudy skies, wiped away, as we finished our patrol.
But the moment seemed to herald some kind of turning.
Carried away, once again, by the family history of the place, and approaching, once again, the Argyll monument, I have learned since last time that Thomas, pro Jacobite, and his son's father-in-law, the Duke of Argyll, the 1715 Jacobite crusher, were old army buddies. They were military colleagues during the War of the Spanish Succession, so I guess that their get-togethers, if there were any, were perhaps not as bitter as I anticipated. The memory of being together and beating the French and associated French political ambition was perhaps stronger than a domestic over Argyll's military efforts stifling Thomas' Jacobite dreams. It still does lead to an interesting conjecture.
In the park this time, I was delighted to observe a bird moving up and down the trunk of a tree, about twenty feet above. Drawing on names and evidence that they could be seen in the woods, I whispered to Ian that I thought it was a nuthatch. I had seen one before, at close quarters in the grounds of the Peterhof, outside St Petersburg. Its behaviour then was like that of a chaffinch in English picnic areas. It was quite happy to come very close to us. This together with a small charm of goldfinch made my bird spotting day.
The cloud now was greying and threatening and the snow was now blowing in. Time to finish the day and report our patrol was over.
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