NORFOLK: Sunrise over the fen on these autumn mornings brings transient splendour to a realm of dew-wet reeds and a lingering cloak of mist. Through a haze of rose which turns to gold countless geometric webs of spiders bridge darkling gaps, glittering and opalescent. Spear-leaves and drooping purple reed-plumes are beaded with silver and the pincushion umbels of angelica are pricked out with a million diamond points of light. Tassels of hemp-agrimony and magenta spires of loosestrife achieve a brightness and perfection which beautifies them, while white bellbines shine with the pallor of fading stars through the morning vapours. There is a scent of water mint distilled from the night. The air is so still that even the gossamer does not tremble. The reed-warblers have gone; there is no chorus of chattering and husky music to greet the new day; but presently a wren trills, a woodpecker’s “chipping” breaks the silence of the nearby woods, and bullfinches utter plaintive whistles in the sallow bushes. A pheasant wakes in a sedgy jungle roost and rises like a rocket, scattering the dew in its rude progress and raising a general alarm.
An exuberance of life on the undrained fenRead more
The sun’s warmth now begins to be felt. Soon bumblebees are astir; wasps begin their hunting and the first dragonfly wakes with a rustle and fret of wings. The mist and its magic have evaporated; the sparkling webs have dried to near invisibility and only the recesses of the lush undergrowth are still wet. The fen is set fair for a golden day as the peacock and brimstone butterflies come swooping out to the flowers.
