December 2025: Quick Roundup

 December 2025

Quick Roundup

 

A mild month but certainly not one of dull clouds and darkness. The sun has given full compensation for its lack of power with many bright sunrises and sets. The moon and stars have been fully appreciated, given the longer nights.

 

Birds heard singing: Wood Pigeon, Collared Dove, Blue Tit, Song Thrust, Blackbird, Dunnock.

 

 

The month blew in grey with soft rain and puddles.

 

On the second, the sun rose bright behind southern horizon trees and set the day and month mild.

At Blickling, the soon-falling sun cast orange tones to the trees and picked out their trunks, reflecting in the lake. A kingfisher took up the colour upon its belly and flew alongside the reedy bank. A swan pair swam up to me, but soon snorted and turned away. No food, no threat.

A misty moon was up in the afternoon sky.

 

Blickling lake

 

 

3rd December

 

A foggy start, with hanging mist indicated the way of the river Wensum at dawn. In one glimpse, the rising sun was a perfect disc. The next, I had to avert my eyes. Many birds called and sang, one tit flock appeared particularly musical until I heard the flourishes and repeats that gave away the virtuoso: a song thrush. I had not long ago heard one sub-singing, and can't remember usually hearing one singing so robustly in December. 

 

 

At a Christmas run (or walk, your preference) at the university, it was the costumed Grinch and Christmas tree stationed on the meadow path that seemed unseasonable rather than the mild weather. So hot on my walk round the UEA broad, I was sweltering as I passed five runners taking selfies (four red and one pink Santa hat).

 

 

UEA broad

 

 4th December

 

 

Silver birch at dawn

 

 

An overcast start with dragging clouds and searing car lights on my commute.

Leaves blowed around low at the university, being hoovered up. By the library, a leaf blower hummed before a gathering surf of leafy detritus, plastic bottles and crisp wrappers.

Outside my regular window, the silver birches were still in orange-leaf.

 

 

 

Onward to the university library

 

 

 

 

5th December

 

A light frost in the morning and many interesting long sweeps of cloud during the day, seemed frosted themselves, as icy as the batch-cooked cauliflower cheeses I'd made and frozen the previous evening.

 

 

Interesting clouds

 

I visited a garden centre and found not a Christmas tree but a cockatiel.

He's a rescue, I'm told. Attacked by his mum and nest mates.

The fluffed-up cockatiel had no crest, patchy head-feathers that revealed pink skin, and remained at the bottom of his tall cage. "He goes down if he's placed up on a perch."

I hadn't planned to own a solitary cockatiel again, it's not fair on them, but this little bird needed a good home. I arranged to pick him up after Christmas.

 

'Silvi' soon stuck as a potential name: there had been a particularly bright silvery moon the previous night, so light you could garden under it, and a large pink moon rising, soon slipping away into clouds (there'd been so many interesting clouds and cirrus too), when I drove home.

 

 

 

 

Rescue Cockatiel (Silvi).

 

 

 

 

6th December

 

 

"A mouse's Christmas" at Blickling

 

I drifted over to Blickling for their Christmas decorations on the theme "A mouse's Christmas".

So many intricate designs and scenes of felted mice, so much to look at, and I reminisced over the years I'd volunteered as a house ambassador at the hall. 

 

One mouse jumped out of a bowl of walnuts. Just the sight of a nutcracker speaks of the festive season for me, let alone the rumble of the nuts in their red net, the crack of their shattered shells. I've been candying walnuts this month; an addictive seasonal treat.

A fieldfare flock flew across a muddy field, in a green field of old brassicas brown and black cattle grazed rather than the more regular sheep.

 

 

In the afternoon, a beautiful off-full moon rose in the east, a silver disc behind the bare white branches of the birch.

 

 

 

 

7th December

 

I found serenity gathered at the cowshed when I went on a run out for milk. There were many cows and calves, soft moos and splats. Ducks quacked and dabbled in a fresh straw bed. Drizzle turned to rain, collecting in roadside edges and drawing dimness down after 15:30. Two cars were seen with wrapped Christmas trees strapped to their rooftops, a sight which used to be more commonly seen in films. I've noted at least three doors with a gauzy green bow tied across their doors, the latest festive trend.

 

 

 

 

Cow and calves

 

 

10th December

 

 

A Blue Tit sang in the morning, sweet nostalgic fluting.

In the evening, I opened the car door to the Plough soft in the north sky and the back door to the open arms of the silver birch. So far, it's been a busy month.

 

 

11th December

 

 

Waning Moon at dawn

 

A very mild day, into double digits. On my walk at the university I spotted two robins fighting. They'd fluttered to the ground, locked beak to beak. One was elevated off the ground, both breathing furiously with their wings held rigid. I leant in too close. They separated and scrambled away into the undergrowth.

 

It was so bright and warm, it felt like somewhere the other side of Christmas. Hot and bothered in wool jumper and winter coat, I stripped a layer on the bus into Norwich and was thankful when some cold air got on with the passengers.

 

 

 

 

 

UEA broad

 

 

 

Feral Pigeons perched on a tree at Norwich market, fine Christmas baubles.

 

 

Norwich market

 

 

14th December

 

A bright, cold perfect day for a trip out on the broads.

Reeds hushed and hissed, orange in sun and purple in shadow, as a wind blew.

Hickling's open channel presented rough wavelets, triangles that rocked the boat and broke into rounded rolls, bubbles and spray. Pike fishermen hunkered at a distance in their black small vessels, a tyre with a square prow, unperturbed.

 

 

Catfield dyke

 

 

 

 

 Video clip from Hickling broad.

 

 

 

 

Mute swan, Hickling broad

 

 

 The sun was soon atop the reeds and sinking, reflecting in the water that would hold its light into dusk.

 

 

 

 

Sunset

 

 

 

 

 

 

Corvids

 

 

 A brilliant sunset followed the bright day. Twilight peaches and pinks seemed to stretch out in time, as the odd duck flew over, a solitary greylag goose or two. Bearded tits pinged in the reedbeds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marsh Harrier

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunset

 

 

 

 

 

Twilight

 

 Raucous Greylag Geese went to roost with the last of the sun's colour. The Pink-footed Geese came out with the stars, unseen but their high yelps were distinctly heard.

 

 

 

 

Greylag Geese

 

 

 

 

 

Dusk

 

 

15th December

 

I discovered pinched bluebell tips in pots and within the front grass, and the thin green stalks of second-year Bluebell seedlings. I soon hunted out a few Daffodil filbert-rounded shoots, along with pointed Tulip tips, but not any Crocuses. The last few Wisteria leaves swayed in a breeze, limp yellow and green.  

 

 

 

 

16th December

 

A Blackbird sang beautifully at 7:30, lovely, speaking to me of spring. 

 

 

Grey Crowned Cranes, opportunistic Mallards

 

I spent some time in the company of the captive Cranes, making sketches and notes whilst I enjoyed their preening, feeding, leaping. A pair of Mallards entertained me with their attempts to take some of the supplementary feed, foiled every time by a stalking crane. 

 

 

 

Robin

 

 

 

 

Wisteria

 

 

 

 

 

Woodland pool

 

 

 

 

 

Look up

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Otter

 

 

 

 

River Wensum

 

 

 

18th December

 

An overcast day, so dim indoors that I put the Christmas lights on early, the bright white tree lights, the strings over the mantelpiece and doors into the office. A Fox gently cantered over the road in the shadow of my lights when I ventured out in the evening for groceries. I appreciated its shape and form, only knowing it for a Fox when it jumped away into the verge. All the foxes I usually see are on the roadside, all dead, all limp, or ripped-up, dirty.

 

In torn strips of dark-grey cloud I glimpse bright Jupiter.

 

 

 

 

 20th December

 

 

Mist, garden

"It's beautiful," I said when I looked out of my window. I'd awoken to a white-lightness and had expected something wintry: there was a fine, close mist turning the sky milky. My breath drifted visibly as I viewed the rim of the sun.

 

 A tit flock streamed into the garden, the white stripe on Long-tailed Tit's heads distinctive. The cold brought in a wren, a coal tit, blue tit, great tit and a blackbird hen all to the bird table, welcome visitors to what has been a quiet garden.

I poached pears in the evening, their spice syrup suffusing the house with a festive scent.

Spice syrup: Cinnamon bark, Vanilla extract, Star Anise, Cloves, Lemon juice, Lemon zest, Root ginger. Water, a little brown sugar.

 

Doyenne du Comice pears preferred, but they've been scarce this winter. Conference pears sufficed.

 

 

 

 

 

21st December / Midwinter

 

 

 

Daylight on the shortest day of the year was further compressed by unshifting cloud cover.

A Dunnock sang in the morning, a sweet little ditty. Wild Garlic smelled strongly when I dug about in the garden border to plant a Hellebore. I firmed back the dark soil and mulched from the composter, not seeing the bulbs. I potted up some of my sprouting culinary garlic, the long white roots as distinctly garlicky as the cloves.

I ventured out into mist, driving between muddy verges and tussocky grasses. Something plump and soft orange was curled by a carriageway. Two Magpies pulled at the killed fox, hopping away as I approached.

 

A Tawny Owl called when I was in the bath.

 

 

 

 

 

22nd December

 

Milky blue skies and an awful horrid acrid smoke in morning, like an extinguished candle--a very polluting one. Christmas obligations led to a hectic afternoon in Norwich. A ferris wheel had joined the carousel on the Forum plain, all very colourful and bright. It seemed a long time ago when there was the ice rink there at Christmas.

 

 

Towards Millenium Plain, Norwich

 

 

 

 

23rd December

 

 

Blue tones eventually coloured the window as somewhere the sun rose. A clouded day but brightened by a Song Thrush and Robin singing robustly at UEA broad.

I ate my lunch at one of the fishing platforms, gulping down my bread and leek-and-potato soup; my hands were pink-chilled, and the cold had got into my tights. 

 

 

UEA Broad

 

 

 

Christmas Eve

 

Rainclouds split, provoking a rainbow as I made the short hop up to Holkham for a Christmas stay away

Pink-footed Geese affirmed my arrival at the coast when I unloaded my case and bags from the car. They flew to the coast and roost, blown across at an angle by a gusting wind that would be a feature of the trip away.

 

 

 

 

Onward to the coast

 

 

 

Christmas Day

 

 

 Christmas day dawned bright and gusty. Fragmented yellow clouds welcomed me to the day when I drew the curtains. Lady Anne's drive was filling up when I headed out for a walk and many walkers and bounding dogs were scattered across the beach. Oddly, not many gave a greeting or "Merry Christmas".

Holkham beach

 

Out from the sheltering pinewoods, I felt the force of the relentless north-westerly wind. On a bare expanse the sand was blown in winnowing, white streams. These hissed low, but gritted my feet, legs, eyes, ears and mouth, when I briefly stripped socks and leggings to dip my knees into the active sea.

Windblown sand contours

Rolling in

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Christmas away was a cycle of walking, getting ready to eat, eating and writing, getting ready to eat and eating, sleeping and eating

 

 

 

Ready for Christmas dinner

 

 

 

 

 

Twilight over the saltmarsh

 

 

 

 

 

 

Buffet cheeses

 

 

The wind continued gusting, sounding like a hand swishing through bath water or someone roller-skating in the room above, as it blew down the chimney. The cold fireplace clinked: tapping, soft diminishing taps on a metal sheet.

 

 

 

 

Boxing Day

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Plaice for lunch

 

 

 

 

 

Konik ponies

 

Sunset at Salts hole

A firm alarm went off at boxing day dinner. Far from an inconvenience, it led to a moment of camaraderie amongst us diners, bonding over the clear, star-crowded coastal sky.

 

Later, I nipped out to view the stars again, given the treat of clear skies and limited light pollution. The dark saltmarsh sounded remote and wild with the odd yelp of a goose, whistle of wigeon and wavering lapwing call.

Orion and stars over the Ancient House

28th December

A dim, pink grubby sky at 16:00 and the Christmas tree lights reflecting in the window, bright white LED points. Soon above them, the blinking fainter lights of a light aircraft circling round.

Light aircraft

A Tawny Owl male called again whilst I was in the bath, a welcome natural intrusion into the closed box of boiler hum, radiator clanks and steam-diffused artificial light.

A Starling sang during the morning, a fine performance atop the Silver Birch.

 

 

New Year's Eve

 

 

 The owl was calling again on the last dawn of the year, the long pauses between his calls sharpening their wintry tone. It had been cooler in previous days and there was a light frost. A pink-swept sky heralded the sun and the day continued clear. Ice flared in the afternoon air, the diminishing hours.

 

The waxing gibbous moon remained after the sun had set on 2025.

 A firework popped at 19:23, ahead of a barrage around 23:00 and the bangs that awoke me at midnight.

 

Waxing moon up at sunset on the 31st.