Along the well-worn cliff-edge path from Dawdon to Hawthorn Dene, blackthorn was in full bloom, the air laden with the coconut scent of gorse, and the ground spangled with primroses and dog violets.
This narrow strip of coastal scrub and grassland, indented with ravines where the soft magnesian limestone has collapsed onto the beach below, was alive with birds, some resident, some summer migrants. Mostly we could hear rather than see them, because the sea surface, ruffled by a brisk northerly wind, dazzled us with a million flickering mirrors of reflected sunshine.
We walked southwards, following bounding flocks of goldfinches and linnets, and flushing meadow pipits from grass tussocks. Then one blur of wings, rendered translucent by sunlight, rose vertically above our heads and showered us with song.
This spot, between the railway and the cliff edge, is fine habitat for skylarks and I can think of few better places to listen to them. As the lark climbed, until it was a mere vibrating speck against blue sky, its notes grew fainter until they were washed away by the murmur of waves lapping on the shingle beach far below; a seamless transition from one exhilarating sound into another.
Staring skywards, head tilted ever further back as the lark rose higher, produced dizziness akin to vertigo. I was forced to look away, in time to see three scimitar-winged shapes hurtling towards us; newly arriving sand martins hawking for flies, skimming low over the dandelions. They swirled around, returning for another pass before disappearing inland.
Standing on the cliff edge, we looked out over a crystal-clear North Sea horizon, from the Tyne to North Yorkshire. Away to the south, house and sand martins were arriving in excited groups, rarely more than half a dozen at a time battling against the headwind. They flew low over the sea then scythed up through the ravines to the cliff top, their flight as they drew closer almost too fast to follow.
Later, reflecting on the morning, I don’t think we ever really had a clear view of anything, just impressions of movement, colour, sound, scents and the vibrancy of spring, leaving us with an abiding sense of wellbeing.
