It had been a struggle to get myself out of the house and, as I arrived, the flat grey sky was already darkening. There was only one car in the car park. I stopped my bike on the gravel and looked up at the huge dark trees, their branches dead still. Thrushes and robins volleyed their song into the sullen, shadowless evening.

I cycled on along the track that leads to the pool, startling a blackbird which flew up clucking. They have cut down a lot of the big oaks in that wood and their  chainsawed trunks lay in the gaping clearings. A man came the other way with a couple of logs small enough to carry.

Soon the path led me down to the pool in the middle of the woods. I parked my bike and sat down on a bench by the water. Mallard ducks moved silently over the surface in little processions, spreading  dark ripples out behind them. I watched their quiet progress.  Two more drakes flew in steeply over the trees, hurtling down feet first, stiff wings held out to steady the fall. They turned at the last moment and landed lightly on the pool, tucking their wings quickly to their sides, suddenly serene and perfect to the feather. As soon as they landed they too were pushing purposefully across the water. 

Some of the ducks moved in pairs side by side, a pristine green head with a mottled hen. But there were too many drakes on the pool for all to be paired off. Some tagged along behind a breeding pair, who stuck together anxiously. Others pursued each other quietly across the lake, one behind the other, seeming so peaceful and unhurried, all the energy of animosity and desire paddled below surface. Then one leant forward, the other followed, and wings were heaving their bodies up and the chase was airborne. You could see how they struggled against their own mass, and they seemed to droop longingly towards the water as they flew. They skidded back down further on and paddled their separate ways. It wasn’t clear what the squabble was about; neither seemed to have a mate. Perhaps it was the frustration of being left out. Mallards have been known to force themselves on other males and even other species when they cannot find a partner.

I left the ducks as the last of the light was draining. A song thrush was singing from a tree by the path, piercing the dusk. It was an urgent, anxious song, like a desperate phone call, by turns insisting, convincing, interrogating. I could hear it as i pedalled on until I turned onto the little road that took me back towards Bristol.