The Bird

My particular bird and its tribe have been almost my only contact in recent forest runs (for going on two months). 
This, the Elibank part of the forest, is the vast tree swathe nearest our house. We, and a few neighbours, sit either side of the logging road. Together we form a kind of north facing gateway. Follow this track south and soon you disappear into the woods, into the sounds of the Bold Burn, the smell of resin.

 Two minutes on and the road forks up left, then sweeps round to face and then run  parallel with the Tweed. And from here, right up to the Head (the path travelling in long curves from left to right over 5 kilometres) the only other creatures I`ve seen have been the small gangs of little, dipping birds.
They seemed at first sighting to be nondescript sparrows (black against the white sky). In time their song and colour and movements have revealed themselves to me. I tend on these solitary runs to "converse" with objects and creatures: "What are you ?" might apply to a caravan, tree or bird (it seems). These wee birds are a mossy yellow, small-headed and they flit ahead, settling in the trees beyond me until I draw level again provoking them to head off again and again. I think  they are called Chiff Chaffs, but it could be that I`ve met a charm of Goldfinches (such is my ignorance). In time, I hope, as I pore over maps, words, descriptions, I`ll be able to "name" this other world on my doorstep.

Actually...a siskin