I always feel rather pleased with myself when I time a walk along the inlet right and arrive when the tide is out, because then I know I'm likely to catch a glimpse of any wading birds out feeding from the sludge and mud.
I'm always especially pleased if I manage to see the spoonbills.
Today was a grey day - perfect for photos as you don't have to fight the harsh light and cast of shadows.
These soft, pastel-pink ice plants are a pleasant change from the more usual bright yellow.
We had the wee ones to stay over the weekend. As always they kept us running.
The weather continues to be changeable and overcast, and cold. But we'd promised a picnic so a picnic (of sorts) we had.
What you don't see are the bottle-tops and cigarette butts on the grass - left there by a Saturday night gathering.
There was a guy cleaning up the barbecue ovens and broken glass under the playground equipment. He said that the mess had been made by teenagers / young people partying and that it happens every Saturday night.
The clean-up guys working for the Council are there early every Sunday morning and have it all cleaned up by 10.00 a.m. (Most of the public don't even know anything about it. I certainly didn't, until now).
Ripples of cloud overhead earlier this week. The sun did come out for a time later.
Our son Chris and his partner Jenny are wandering (trudging, tramping, climbing, rambling ...) in the Himalayas at the moment and will be there for another two weeks yet.
I was thinking about them being there in the mountains and imagining the wonder and awe-inspiring grandeur that they are seeing there at the top of the world.
At the time I was sitting outside drinking a cup of coffee and looked down to see the lawn covered in daisies. The contrast of the lowly lawn daisy compared to the majesty of mountains made me smile.
I've always loved daisies.
I threw out the end of an old loaf on to the grass and immediately the resident blackbird (I've named him Billy Britches) landed on the lawn-runway and started to hoe in.
As I watched I noticed he uses his beak like a pair of scissors to cut small chunks out of the bread, flinging out the crumbs and pieces. Then he struts about (or hops about - the starlings are the ones that strut) and gobbles up the small bits where they have fallen.
Other birds came to join the party. Billy Brithches didn't seem to mind. He seems a very affable sort.
When our old cat Grommy wandered by, I was ready to shoo the birds away from danger, but he couldn't care a less about them. Didn't even give them a glance. Another sign that he has reached the status of geriatric cat.