Of all our songbirds, blackbirds, with their peerless spring anthems, seem to have the fondest place in listeners’ hearts.

How many Scottish households talk of “oor blackie” in affectionate appropriation of their favoured birds?

Merles, as Robert Burns called them, are certainly strong characters, at other times of the year swooping in front of cars or clattering in hedges, with what appears like a display of irascibility.

LESLEY DUNCAN

 

EXPLORING BRITAIN UNDER A BLANKET OF BLACKBIRD SONG AT DAWN IN MAY

Imaginary levitation, not too high,

Will wing me over hedges of leylandii

And wicker fences (Woolworth’s best)

And laurels sporting hidden nest

And browning daffodils and cherry trees

With frilly petals at suburban ease.

The blackbird baton is passed on

Through roadside thickets drenched at dawn

And fields of cows and trampled earth

To trees that rim the fields’ green girth.

Melodious quest may draw me west

To wilderness that knows no rest

From winds that leave the tussocks bleached.

Still, through the hills, birdsong is leached.

And on far shores the phantom sound

Will clash with larks’ and still astound,

Till out at sea the song will cease

And maverick birds now hold their peace.

LESLEY DUNCAN