Sudden shock

Just finished my breakfast. Wenusia, having finished hers, asks to be let outside. I'm sitting at the kitchen table, replete. Suddenly, a commotion on the window sill outside. 

It's Wenusia, with a live blackbird in her jaws. It's squawking, terrified. I open the window and shout: "Wenusia! Nie wolno!" (one always speaks to cats in Polish). I wrest the terrified blackbird out of Wenusia's mouth as it struggles for life. For a second, I'm clutching the poor bird in my hand but it's fighting hard; I throw the bird into the air to launch it, to give it a chance to fly off, but it has had its right wing broken. It tries to get away but soon falls to the ground. Wenusia pounces on it from the window sill and bites its neck. Feathers fly. Nature red in tooth and claw, a Ted Hughes poem witnessed live. The five-month-old kitten that just an hour earlier had been purring contentedly on my bed turns out to a ruthless hunter-killer.

Having delivered the coup de grâce, Wenusia scampers off, puzzled by my strongly adverse reaction to the first 'present' she has brought me. The bird was meant as a gift, a token of gratitude to her human provider. And there I am shouting angrily at her.

A spot of blackbird blood remains on my kitchen window, a reminder of the true nature of felines. Entirely happy to be petted and pampered by humans, but essentially small furry killing machines, honed by evolution for a niche in the ecosystem in which small birds and mammals are the principal sources of food for Felis catus.

After a while, Wenusia returns to the kill and drags the dead bird to the other side of the drive to continue playing with it. She leaps, she pounces, she throws it into the air, she spins it round in a mad dance. Below: "I'm going to pull your head off because I don't like your head."

Eventually, she leaves it, and jumps up to the window ledge, asking me to let her in again. Which I do. She goes to her bowl, eats some dry cat food, then asks to be let out again. She jumps down into the garden, and saunters up to the dead blackbird to play with it some more. A reminder that cats hunt more for the amusement than for nourishment.

This shocking incident brings me up sharp to reconsider the responsibility we humans have for our pets – cats in particular. 

A cat cooped up in a twenty-square metre bedsit flat is denied that true nature. Cats, being conscious beings, should be allowed their agency. Unlike dogs (which have coexisted with humans since hunter-gatherer times), cats (which have only coexisted with humans since the dawn of agriculture) cannot (yet) be trained to respond to human commands. And in any case, a cat playing with a wounded bird is in the throes of instinct. Given another 15,000 years of cat-human coexistence cats might learn to sit, beg and come to heel, but will never be able to disengage from such moments. Watch a cat in a state of alertness; its ears are like two radar dishes, swivelling independently of each other scanning for signs of movement in the long grass, eyes darting, head traversing in short jerky movements – it is all attention. And its intention is to kill, ruthlessly.

Below: scrubbing up. Back in the kitchen, Wenusia is purring and rubbing herself against my legs.

I feel great pity and sorrow for the loss of the blackbird. This species (Turdus merula) is by far my favourite songbird; its rich and varied repertoire standing out from the two-tone monotony of the cuckoo, the simple cooing of the dove or the crude trumpeting of the pheasant. Blackbird songs are complex, suggesting higher levels of communication between individual birds. Maybe I'm anthropomorphising too much here, but listening in on the conversation between two blackbirds on a summer's day, I'm hearing the exchange of commentary upon the day's proceedings, maybe a shared exchange of opinions of how wonderful it is to be alive on a day such as this. Conscious beings, clearly.

I don't want to be responsible for a local songbird apocalypse, especially if Wenusia someday brings into life a litter of kittens that live indoors and outdoors. It will soon be spring, and the trees in the wood next door will be full of nesting birds. Such then is nature. I ponder my role in it, a part of the local ecosystem.

Now the blackbird's body – an adult male, possibly quite old – lies on the gravel, bereft of life, one dead eye staring up at the sky, surrounded by feathers, its lower body a mess of blood, entrail and excrement.

Its consciousness passes on.

POSTSCRIPT

Upon my walk today, I chanced upon a dead hare (in a ditch by the DK50) and a dead field mouse (on the footpath from Nowe Grobice to Chynów). A reminder to me that death is omnipresent in nature.

POST-POSTSCRIPT

Tuesday 25 February: "I'm going to pull your head off because I don't like your head" – mouse edition.

This time five years ago:
The Mechanical Engineers

This time six years ago.
Ealing in the earliest of spring

This time eight years ago:
Fat Thursday: a blast against sugar

This time nine years ago:
The Devil is in doubt

This time ten years ago
Are you aware of your consciousness?

This time 12 years ago:
"Why are all the good historians British?"

This time 13 years ago:
Central Warsaw, evening rush-hour

This time 14 years ago:
Cold and getting colder

This time 16 years ago:
Uwaga! Sople!

This time 17 years ago:
Ul. Poloneza at its worst

Cranes and trains

The cold snap continues, it's 7pm and -4°C outside right now; it's not been perfectly cloudless but now then then the sun blasts through. Sunset is just before five. And yes, spring still seems a long way off... 

In recent years, more and more cranes that breed in Poland in summer decide to winter here too. According to OTOP, (the Polish equivalent of the RSPB), some 10% of Poland's crane population has not flown off to the south of France, Spain or North Africa. 

As dusk falls, the cranes congregate in large aerial formations and fly around. 

Below: this evening, I counted about 170 individuals flying east between Nowe Grobice and Sułkowice.

Below: three days earlier, I captured these two huge formations (about 320 individuals in total) heading west over Chynów.
 

Crashing change of gear from cranes to trains. At around quarter to five, Chynów station is as busy as it gets. In the distance on the 'down' track, we can see approaching lights of the local train to Radom. On the 'up' track, going the wrong way as it were, is the InterCity Żeromski service from Olsztyn to Kraków, hurtling through. Note the right-hand headlight lit red to indicate that it's on the wrong track. On the passing platform on the right stands the local train to Warsaw. This one waits here for nine minutes to allow the Żeromski to pass; that window is just in case the express is running late. But today, all three trains were on time.

Below: quarter of an hour after sunset, and a laden freight train double-headed by two Polish-built Pesa Gama locomotives pulls out of the passing line at Chynów station, having waited for a couple of passenger trains to come and go.

Below: another shot of the southern end of the 'down' platform, Chynów, this time taken with my 10-20mm super-wide lens, as the sun dipped into the narrow slot between the cloud shelf and the horizon.

This time last year:
Spirituality for our (New) Age Pt II

This time nine years ago:
Mysticism, the Occult and human spirituality

This time ten years ago:
How do we see God?

This time 11 years ago:
Who needs a Leica with a Noctilux lens when you can do this?

This time 12 years ago:
Fides quaerens intellectum

This time 13 years ago:
To the Devil with it all! - short story, Part II

This time 15 years ago:
Building the bypass as the snows melt

The time 17 years ago:
Two weeks into Lent

Afterglow

Central Europe has been under a massive high-pressure system for the best part of two weeks now, with long spells without cloud cover. Nights are double-digit cold; days are frosty and beautiful, the sun's brilliance reflecting off the snow. Ten hours of direct sunshine at this of year is not enough to lift temperatures or melt snow, but does wonders for the spirit. The sun now sets a few minutes before 5pm, and the 'magic hour' (half an hour before, half an hour after) creates an extra-special atmosphere. In this post, I want to share some recent photos taken after the sun has set. Tomorrow, the clouds will roll in from the north, bringing a little snow.

Below: ulica Owocowa, the western end of the lane on which I live, officially in Chynów. Behind me lies Jakubowizna. On the horizon, a small cloud formation bubbles up.

Below: ul. Miodowa, Chynów. No asphalt between here and the main street in the distance.

Below: the site of the old level crossing on ul. Miodowa, which was removed when the railway line was modernised in 2019. A local Koleje Mazowieckie train approaches Chynów station...

...and taken a few days earlier, here's a double-deck przyspieszony ('accelerated') Koleje Mazowieckie service approaching Chynów station. I love these trains – 21 minutes to W-wa Służewiec, 21 minutes home, with only three intermediate stops along the way. Note the thin layer of low cloud catching the rays of the sun, by now below the horizon.

Below: platform's end, Chynów. The sign is set at an angle to the tracks, making it easier for passengers to get their bearings as a train enters or passes the station. A bit of fill-in flash helps here!

This time last year:
Metaphysics: woo-woo or fact?

This time six years ago:
Skierniewice-Łuków line modernisation announced
[PKP PLK still getting round to sorting out the tenders...]

This time seven years ago:
Entropy and anti-entropy in a constant-ruled universe

This time eight years ago:
Truth, spin, bullshit and lies

This time nine years ago:
How much spirituality do we need?

This time 12 years ago:
The Chosen Ones

This time 13 years ago:
Fixies in the snow

This time 16 years ago:
Just the ticket

Sightseeing without the tourists

Now is the time to see Warsaw or any other Northern European city – when the weather's grim and tourists are sparse. Let's face it – exploring cities is not about sunbathing, but revelling in the architecture without the distraction of the bucket-list selfie crowd. The lowest of the low season, between the New Year and Easter, is when it's best to wander around. Below: the market of Warsaw's 17th century New Town, Friday lunchtime – empty. Now's the time to savour the atmosphere, the klimat.

Below: Warsaw's Barbakan – the remaining stretch of the mediaeval wall encircling the Old Town. Without the hawkers touting tourist tat, without buskers, without garish adverts for shops or restaurants. Walled cities speak of a time of constant invasions and the need for defensive structures.

Below: from the steps of the Church of the Holy Spirit, looking down ulica Mostowa curving and dipping gently down towards the Vistula. The Barbakan gate to the right. 

Below: by night, same composition, unsullied by the tourist throng milling noisily from shot bar to shot bar.

Below: the Barbakan as dusk falls. The Old Town lies silent.

Below: the last weekend with the Christmas lights on; the city authorities start taking them down on Monday. Ulica Freta with nary a human being in sight. 

Below: corner of ul. Freta and ul. Kościelna. Architecture, cobblestones and remnants of snow give that European authenticity best appreciated at this time of year.

Below: the edge of the New Town, early-postwar Socialist Realist architecture. A Żabka convenience store is now an obligatory fixture on many a street corner in Poland's towns and cities. De jure it's actually a Żabka café, with its two barstools, a windowsill table measuring three foot by one foot six, and a self-service coffee machine, which allows the premises to stay open on Sundays pursuant to Polish retail law. From the tourism industry point of view, this is good, as visitors can safely graze on salt snacks and energy drinks the whole week round.

This time last year:
How much spirituality do we need?

This time five years ago:
New 'down' platforms take shape at Sułkowice and Chynów

This time six years ago:
Birds return to frozen ponds

This time seven years ago:
Bending the forces of physics with your will

This time nine years ago:
Giving it up for Lent

This time 11 years ago:
North-east of Warsaw West revisited

This time 12 years ago:
Looking for answers

This time 13 years ago:
Fresh powder in Warsaw's parks

This time 15 years ago:
Another Lent starts

This time 17 years ago:
Okęcie dusk

Machcin's wetlands icy – but dry

The hard frost continues (it was -9°C overnight), so having checked out the wetlands to the north of Sułkowice, I decided today to see what the situation is like in the 'Nawiedzone mokradła' ('haunted wetlands') that lie in Machcin, between Dąbrowa Duża and Rososz. In the spring, this is the breeding ground of dozens of cranes; would I be able to locate their nests?

On my way there (a 50-minute walk from home), I was overflown by said dozens of cranes, flying west (i.e. away from the wetlands). There were more individuals in this particular formation than I could cram into frame, given the long telephoto zoom I was using.

As they passed overhead, I got a tighter shot of the leading quartet.

Where are they going? Since late December, I've seen gaggles of cranes overhead, most recently two days ago. The common Eurasian crane (Grus grus) normally flies off to winter in warmer climes by the end of November to return in late February. This year, it's like they never really left... Climate change is confusing these days.

On, on to the wetlands. To my surprise, wet they're not. Whereas the last time I visited (in late summer), the grassy tufts were islands surrounded by stagnant water, and the reedbeds in the middle distance were impossible to reach, today I find that the water-table has dropped to the point where I can see no ice. Each tuft is separated from the next by a grassy valley; I move forward by hopping from one hillock to the next or by walking around them. Every now and then, there's a drainage ditch; in them the pitifully low water has frozen solid. Here I can progress more comfortably towards the reeds. Below: the line in the middle is the start of the reedbeds, which stretch on back to the treeline. 

Below: inside the reedbeds. The only way through is along the drainage channels, which look to be man-made, excavated to facilitate water flow through the wetlands. Some of the reeds are over two metres tall. Water at the bottom is frozen totally and absolutely solid. No chance of wet socks today.

Common cranes nest in a variety of shallow freshwater wetlands such as large wet meadows, bogs, forested swamps, sedge meadows, and lake edges. They generally prefer large, isolated nesting territories that are free from disturbance. Now, is this the remnants of a crane's nest? Or just a random scattering of sticks? Some are the thickness of a human forearm...

Using the drainage channels I turn south and do something I've never done before – reach the far shore of the wetlands. 

Left: here on the margin between marsh and forest, I come across evidence of tree felling – though by whom? Beavers or humans? It seems the beavers had first crack, but I see evidence of chainsaw as well as teeth. Young birch trees make for good fence posts...

Below: out of the swamp and into the forest behind Dąbrowa Duża, where pines prevail.

Back to Jakubowizna, then; another gorgeous day, under a clear, bright sky. Below: is this Stella-Plage? Are we on Oxshott Common? No, this is a short walk from Jakubowizna. Sunshine brings out the best in me.

In total, I walked two hours. And in that time, I did not see another human being. Luxury!

This time two years ago:
Right-of-way cobble
[the authorities soon crumbled!]

This time three years ago:
Sunshine, I need the sunshine

This time eight years ago:
Consciousness outside the body

This time 11 years ago:
Sustainability and the feminisation of business

This time 12 years ago:
Lent kicks off (somewhat earlier than this year)

This time 13 years ago:
Feeling at home on the ice

This time 14 years ago:
Wetlands in (a milder) winter

This time 17 years ago:
Railway miscellany

Ice, sun and moon

What a gorgeous day! The sky is crystalline blue, entirely cloud-free. Time to get office work done quickly and move on out! After a night when temperatures fell to below -9°C, it took a while for the sun to get a positive reading on the thermometer. I set off just after 2pm. 

It was this kind of a day. In summer – a heatwave. Today, parka, scarf, woollen hat, army boots. Below: the DK50 (national highway 50) in Nowe Grobice, by the scrapyard. Note the solar panel and wind turbine, which between them must generate the power to illuminate the pedestrian crossing here night and day.

Below: my aim today is to return to the wetlands between Sułkowice and Ławki to see them in their icy glory. I had been there just three weeks ago, but was curious to see them in today's conditions. I was not disappointed.

Below: the waterlogged land has frozen, but I must tread lightly and avoid open water even if at first sight the ice looks solid – it isn't. Still needs a further two or three nights at -8°C or below to even attempt walking on the ponds between the tufts of grass and reed. But flowing water takes much longer to freeze over.

Below: beavers have dammed this stretch of the river, though water is pouring around the side.

Left: flying pigeons in Sułkowice. I could see the flock wheeling around above the house; they'd suddenly flash white against the blue sky as the sun caught the undersides of their wings. Sadly, they were coming in to land; each loop they circled was at a lower altitude. Had I passed a little earlier, I'd have caught them against the moon (97% full).

Below: the moon between latticework of the wireless relay tower that stands on the DK50 in Nowe Grobice.

Below: the sun setting between the loco and carriages of the Radomianka limited-stop service to Radom as it approaches Chynów. 

Below: the sun descends behind a medium-tension electricity pylon, on the other side of the railway line, between Chynów and Sułkowice stations.

This time last year:
Misty day in Dobieszyn

This time two years ago:
On-spectrum asks

This time three years ago:
Ego, Consciousness and the Ladder of Authority

This time four years ago:
Trains and snowy days

This time five years ago:
"I wake up at five and queue for bread and soup"

This time six years ago:
Getting over this year's flu

This time seven years ago:
War and the absence of war

This time nine years ago:
Sensitivity to spiritual evolution

This time ten years ago:
75th anniversary of Stalin's deportations of Poles

This time 11 years ago:
Peak Car (in western Europe at least)

This time 12 years ago:
Pavement for Karczunkowska NOW!
[To this day, the road is worthy of a provincial Russian village]

This time 14 years ago:
Until the Vistula freezes over 

This time 14 years ago:
Of sunshine, birdsong and wet socks

This time 15 years ago:
Confusion on the rails

This time 16 years ago:
Road to Kraków

This time 17 years ago:
Happy birthday, Dziadzio Tadeusz

The XII Canonical Prospects of Jakubowizna in Winter (Without Snow)

It will be a long time before the XII Canonical Prospects of Jakubowizna are finally agreed upon, and their order. No doubt there will be schisms along the way; which Prospects make the cut and which are relegated to the Apocrypha or judged to be Gnostic Prospects. Aesthetes and scholars will debate. Slowly though, the Canon will take shape; across the year's four seasons, across mornings, middays, afternoons, evenings and night. Each canonical image must, however, be linked to unalloyed, genuine qualia moments that resonate deeply with my soul, stirring unbidden memories.

Part I: The Western Canon

Below: takes me back to my strongest past-life memories. Road running alongside the railway track between Chynów and Sułkowice.

Below: one of my most favourite experiences is that of walking towards the sun, into the wind. The sun and wind, in my face. And with an interesting cloud formation that casts my mind back. 

Below: general view of the north-west corner of Jakubowizna, on leaving the station.

Below: up the lane from the station towards my działka. The familiar way.

Below: looking north from the lane into the side road that goes off to Grobice; birches, pines, houses old and new.

Part II: The Eastern Canon

Left: looking north towards Grobice down the path from Jakubowizna, flanked on either side by orchards – apples, pears and cherries. The local council wanted to widen this path and asphalt it, but landowners wouldn't sell the land the land needed to allow for the prescribed width. And so grass triumphs, and I must say, I'm rather glad. Lack of asphalt means I live on what's effectively a no-through road to all vehicles except tractors and mud-pluggers.

Below: Foreclosed. "Are you men from the bank?" Deserted cottage on the path from Jakubowizna to Grobice. Moon rising. Jet overhead.

Below: the row of silver birches at the forest's edge. Darkness brings foreboding as one approaches, but in broad daylight an uplifting scene. 

Below: from Grobice the path rises towards Grabina. Dry. The soil is dry for the time of year. It's below freezing overnight, but no snow; no snow cover in winter presages drought in spring.

Below: "When you come to a fork in the road, take it." (– Y. Berra). Left to Grabina, right to Adamów Rososki. 

Below: the path from Adamów Rososki to Machcin II. The debate is whether this view or the reverse view (from the end of this path) makes the grade as 'canonical'.

Below: the forest is much less dense before the last government's state forestry service, Lasy Państwowe, felled as many trees as possible ahead of the election. Still, a beautifully wistful scene, any time of year.

Nearly home – from here, about ten minutes to my kitchen; on with the kettle for a hot drink and then make me some food. 

Which prospects will make the Canon?

This time six years ago:
Fairness, simplicity, taxation and a sustainable society

This time seven years ago:
Polish beer cans in the UK: new shit has come to light

This time nine years ago:
Lent, a time to cleanse and reflect

This time 11 years ago:
It was 50 years ago today... Beatles arrive in New York

This time 13 years ago:
Adventures in the Screen Trade – the truth about Hollywood

This time 14 years ago:
The sad end of Andrzej J.

This time 17 years ago:
Today's dose of wintery gorgeousness

This time 11 years ago:
First intimations of spring