Compensations.

I am writing this sitting in the conservatory as the sun sets across the fens, Orange melds to yellow and then white before fading into an ever darkening indigo. Venus surveys this magnificence from high in the sky and to the east the pink supermoon rises grandly, defying gravity in its ascent. After a cold, stingy spell of weather spring has arrived all in a rush.

Of course the owls began to prepare for spring's arrival soon after Christmas with their territorial posturing and some magnificent shrieking. It is a good five weeks now since the females disappeared into nest boxes and sightings of the owls have been at a premium. I mostly see two birds as I walk to feed them, that sit rather frostily apart but tolerate each other for the sake of the food. Just once in these lean times did I see five birds. We had a bitingly cold wind from the east ten days ago making it as inclement as any winter's day across the flatlands. I cannot say where they came from but suddenly I was surrounded by owls and thrilled to have my fly past once more. As the weather eased so the owls disappeared once more. I find myself alone, walking and whistling but ever patient that they will return.

But there are compensations. The bats are out of hibernation and playing their tricks on me. They favour the path to the north of the sheds, the one I use to walk into the farm. These Red Arrows of the natural world fly so low and so close I am certain that we will collide with me but they are simply teasing. I love to watch their agile silhouettes against the sunset despite my nervousness.

There is another creature fresh from hibernation too. Close to the house and almost underfoot I happened upon a hedgehog by the first owl feeding station. It curled up against the torchlight as I scolded it for snuffling around in this particular area. Nonetheless it was a delight to watch as it scurried away and I have watched out for it ever since.

Finally the swallows are making their first tentative explorations of the area after their mammoth migrations. I saw my first this year battling its way along the river on the 5th of April. They love the grass field as it harbours a multitude of insects for them to feast upon. The owls will not be pleased to see them mind. When they are forced out in daylight hours the swallows chase and harass them, scolding loudly as they follow close to the owl's tail. Although I feel for the owls I love the swallow's sunny disposition.

I may not have a plenitude of owlish visitors but the moon has been so magnificent this week that I had to attempt an owl and moon composition. There were just the usual male birds, giving a possible two chances. The first flew in and I snapped furiously away. The moon continued to rise and to align it closely to the platform I found myself scrooched low in the potato patch with my neck at the most peculiar angle in order to look through the cameras viewfinder. It was all in vain as the second bird sat staring at me incredulously wondering what on earth I was up to now. I know this bird waits until I leave and so I gave up. As I stood I realised I had a hawthorn, barb lodged firmly in my shin. To add insult to injury (literally) my photos were too dark to see the owl at all.

But last night there was a hint of an end to my owlish famine. As I walked into the farm, studiously avoiding the bats and watching out for hedgehogs, an owl flew low, keen and close to the farm border. Most excitingly, it flew upwards into the ash tree and sat next to the regular male that waits here. I felt almost certain it was one of the females out of the nest and waiting for food. There was a familiarity between the two bird, a companionable air that is hard to define but I am confident they were a pair. I am hoping that this means her eggs have hatched, that her brood has been successful this far and that once again there will be owlets on the farm. Compensation indeed.