7 MAY 2018
The avian magicians spend months
at sea, never touching land and taking only a moment’s rest now and then.
Around now, on the low cliffs
between St Andrews Castle and the town harbour, a colony of fulmars settles in
for the breeding season, just two minutes’ walk from my office. It is always a
lift to the spirits when these birds arrive and begin sweeping clean the
precarious, narrow rock ledges where the eggs will be laid.
As the days lengthen and the wind
off the firth goes from chilly to cool, I like to stand on the path above the
rock face and watch as they glide back and forth, my pleasure intensified
by the knowledge that, once the chicks are grown enough to leave, I will not
see them again till next spring. I know this from experience, having lived
through 20 years of their coming and going: gradually, the colony
builds to its peak numbers, then, a little less gradually, the birds glide
away, to spend the rest of the year at sea, far from this narrow peninsula.
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