Goldfinch in Longrun Meadow

A woman stopped her bicycle on the riverside path to ask what we were looking at. A blackcap, one of our group said. She peered across the river to where we were looking. "It's well camouflaged isn't it?" I couldn't see it either but I had it on good authority that the Emperor wasn't in the altogether because natural historian Stephen Moss said so as he led a guided walk around the centre of Taunton.

I followed and asked questions and looked around me like a dog snapping at flies. It was the end of the day and after-work runners bounced past, rush-hour traffic settled down into a hum and a warm sheen descended on the town. A white blossom wafted around in great drifts and crunched like snow underfoot.

Stephen strode on and knocked out bird names: goldfinch, dunnock, green woodpecker. He pointed to the ones he could see. Too well-hidden for me to distinguish.

We walked across Longrun Meadow, a big area of long grass and coppiced trees close to the town centre, to what has become known as the Willow Cathedral, a domed structure grown from willow. We sheltered in its half shade and perfect bird hide quality.

And then, a small bird landed right above me. A goldfinch. I knew its red painted face and bright yellow patches from the porcelain birds my parents had on their mantelpiece when I was growing up. I watched it for a quiet minute as it twittered on top of the willow branch, looked around and then fluttered away. A moment of communion in the centre of Taunton. A moment of realisation, too, that I needed to slow down and look, and listen, for the life around me to sharpen and focus.