The Lark
The lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to build
Her annual nest, lies silent in the field.
But if the promise of a cloudless day,
Aurora smiling, bids her rise and play,
Then straight she shews, 'twas not for want of voice,
Or power to climb, she made so low a choice:
Singing she mounts, her airy wings are stretch'd
T'wards heav'n, as if from heav'n her notes she fetch'd.
Edmund Waller (1606-1687)
It started off a wet, cool and dismal day here in Knebworth on the Spring Bank Holiday Monday, but it did fine up and the sun did try its best, although with little success, to break through the heavy low cloud.
We hadn't much planned, but decided to go out for a walk through the fields at the back of the recreation ground. The fields are full of rapeseed plants that are now fading back, I think the aroma of the flowers would have been too overpowering for me if they had been in full bloom still.
We veered off a path to the right, away from the busy recreation ground were families were enjoying walks and ball games and children were busy amusing themselves on the play areas. The path took us away further into the peace and quiet of the countryside and into the depths of acres of fields. All we could hear was birdsong and then we spotted our first sighting of a skylark in a long time. There it was sitting tall on the foliage of a rape plant, singing its heart out.
As we got further into the farmland, it became clear there was a whole flock of skylarks nesting in the deepness of the rape plants and grasses on either side of the pathway. It was as though we were suddenly walking through the dawn chorus and had stumbled upon something unexpectedly magical. It was one of those surprising and enchanting moments that make you stand still and listen and watch carefully to capture the minute.
We watched as the skylarks sang and chirrupped their pleasant, liquid warbling songs on their low perches. They would take flight with their fluttering broad wings, flapping and gliding over their territory, rising high and then parachuting down again.
We continued on with our walk and edged further towards woodland and civilisation, the singing became fainter and fainter and then the mellow blackbird song became more prominent from the woodland, together with the low cooing of the wood pidgeons.
We made our way back home again and as we came back to the recreation ground I felt as though I'd stepped back into the real world again. For a short while I'd been entranced and back in those childhood days of summer, Enid Blyton books or in one of those 'old' poems about the countryside.
And just to think the skylarks are there in all their glory, right behind where we live, just the park and recreation ground between us and I never knew. In all the years we have lived here. I was pleased we went for that walk, as I hadn't felt very motivated that day and now I felt uplifted!
The Heaven- Soaring Lark
The heaven-soaring lark, its rapture spent
On morning's quest
Drops down again, soul satisfied, content
Unto the nest
O singing soul, chafe not, that by earth's chain
Thou seemest bound! -
The sky's true messenger did ne'er disdain
The lowly ground.
Mary Eleanor Roberts (late 19th early 20th century)
A Green Cornfield
The earth was green, the sky was blue:
I saw and heard one sunny morn
A skylark hang between the two,
A singing speck above the corn;
The cornfield stretched a tender green
To right and left beside my walks;
I knew he had a nest unseen
Somewhere among the million stalks.
Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
