A warm, fuzzy feeling

This morning, winter made sure I knew it was there. A heavy frost had coated everything in crystals. It wasn't long after dawn and already, fluffy, hungry-looking birds were lurking in the bushes. The bird feeders were nearly empty!

Under normal circumstances, you could perhaps accuse me of being a little disorganised, but this morning I became a hyper-efficient bird-feeding machine. In no time I'd found porridge oats (central heating for birds, too), some bashed-up apples, a bag of cheap currants for thrushes and sunflower hearts to replenish the feeder. It was time to brave the cold.

Crunching over the grass, I made my way down the garden to the bird feeders. I got halfway there before a great spotted woodpecker burst from its position on the peanut feeder.

'Sorry, woodpecker,' I thought (I'm not yet at the stage where I'm talking directly to the birds), 'you can come back in a couple of minutes'. It was so quiet and still outside that I heard the whirr of its wings as it went to hide in the ash tree.

I also heard fieldfares 'chacking' overhead as they searched for unfrozen fields, a wren singing from down the hedgerow and saw a flock of lapwings flopping their way across the sky, also on the hunt for a nice field full of worms. I might not have noticed any of those things if I'd stayed indoors.

There was a slight hitch when I found the lid of the bird feeder was iced firmly shut, but a jug of warm water soon fixed that and sorted the frozen bird bath, too. With the feeders full, fruit scattered on the ground and oats sprinkled around, my job was done.

By the time I was back inside and peering out of the kitchen window, birds were already back on the feeders. They got their breakfast; I got a feeling of satisfaction. It was a good start to the day.