The simple pleasure of hearing an early morning bird's song in Mayo

COUNTRYFILE

HOW pleasant a thing to be woken by birdsong.

There it was, right on the crack of dawn, from the tall trees across the road.

Could those three short notes be properly called a song? If so, my mistle thrush certainly likes to sing. He could do with adding to his repertoire, if you ask me.

The first short phrase was melodic, as were those that followed. After a while, though, those gentle fluting notes acquired a piercing quality and I was glad when the bird tired of his game and went for breakfast.

Yet I know he will be back at daybreak tomorrow, and the day after, and for half the year, uttering those same three notes endlessly and without mercy, fueling my wrath and sorely tempting fate. There is a reason he sits so high to sing.

At least, as the year progresses, he will be joined by an army of other songsters and their combined voices will drown him out a little.

But then, once he has his nest in place and his bride incubating eggs, his already poor attempt at song changes to include an imitation of a referee's whistle.

Anything that goes within a hundred paces of his tree will be spotted and the alarm will be sounded repeatedly and endlessly. I am convinced that even when there is no hint of danger he blows his whistle anyway, just to make sure the thing is working properly.

When the eggs are hatched, both adult mistle thrushes spend a good deal of their day shout-whistling at the world in general.

Only when the young ones detach themselves from their parents will they finally quit. So that's my early morning waking slumber ruined for the entire spring and half the summer.

While I feel the thrush is singing out of turn, there are lots of other things out and about and preparing for the new year. Rooks are beginning to spend quiet moments looking over their nests and making the few little repairs required to make them habitable.

These birds are highly sociable and very intelligent. Just listen to them chatter among themselves with never a cross word, or hardly, at any rate. And even if a short squabble should break out, it is over near as soon as it started and peace descends on the rookery once more.

One day soon we shall have a fine, clear evening and then we shall hear those famous words: “Isn't it fine to see a stretch in the day!” And then, if we are able, we should take ourselves away from the drudgery of winter and find a high place from which to watch the sunset.

Weatherwise, we aren't out of the woods yet, for the winter solstice of some weeks ago was only the start of meteorological winter and we have plenty of time for a cold snap.

Nor should we be surprised if that is what we get.

While the general trend appears to be one of a warming world (and alarmingly so, if we give attention to those who claim to know), warm air moving north over central Europe is likely to push cooler Arctic air south over the North Atlantic.

And while an unseasonably warm start to the year might appear to herald an early spring, which we would very much appreciate, a blast of cold will knock everything back from its false start.

The mistle thrush sings because he feels ready to establish his breeding territory and ready to start thinking about family things.

Let's hope he isn't too pre-emptive, although I wouldn't mind if he kept his beak closed for a while yet.