A tiny scratching noise from the window as I sat here typing away. Naturally I raised my eyes. And for a second – maybe even 1.5 seconds – I was three feet – maybe even 2 ft 6 in – from a wren. How tiny! How absurdly, ridiculously, impossibly tiny!
It clung there, balanced, twisted at about 45 degrees of vertical. I suspect it had been hunting for even tinier invertebrates in the weather-battered wood of the window-frame. And for that tiny length of time it was mine to rejoice in.
The cocky tail is something we humans have always rather liked. We put a wren on the reverse side of the farthing, a coin worth, let me inform younger readers, a quarter of an old penny or 1/960th of a pound. That tail seems an act of defiance, telling us that here is a small scrap of life ready to take on the entire world, and I reckon that’s what excited the coin-makers. It’s a great feathery up-yours to the forces of distruction.
Close to, the pattern on the feathers is exquisitely delineated, as if with the pen of a Chinese calligrapher, one working in sepia instead of the usual black. And I was touched by this sight: absurdly, ridiculously, impossibly touched.
Birds are so much smaller than we think. In movement, through the binoculars, they look quite substantial, but a museum specimen or a bird this close seems half the size at best. Wrens are phenomenally loud birds: even their monosyllabic calls are enormous. Their song – and on sunny mornings they will give a sudden shout of song even in winter – is a garden-filling event.
But up close you are aware of their fragility: I could hold a dozen in my cupped hands. Then, when you take in their busyness, the brightness of the eye, the jauntiness of that tail, fragility seems
to be the last thing on their minds. And it seemed to me that the wren can stand as an emblem for the entirety of the wild world: infinitely fragile, infinitely defiant, utterly concentrated on life and on making more life, and, against all the odds, determined to live forever or die in the attempt.
Dorothy Brooks says
25 November 2015 at 5:00 pmThank you, Simon for recognising the joy of the wren. Last winter I had one which regularly came to my hand for wax worms. I almost cried with joy! What a privilege! Dorothy B.
Simon Barnes says
6 December 2015 at 12:35 pmAbsolutely, sounds like your good at patience and stillness.
David Gibson says
25 November 2015 at 5:02 pm“The poor wren,
The most diminutive of birds, will fight,
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.”
MACBETH Act IV Scene ii
Simon Barnes says
6 December 2015 at 12:35 pmThanks for that!
Ann says
25 November 2015 at 5:05 pmOh Simon, how I’m loving all your wildlife blogs. I got to know you through your articles in the RSPB magazine then a couple of your books. Each article lifts my spirits and as I also live in Norfolk, makes me feel quite at home. You’ve been spoiling us this week but I’m not complaining!
Simon Barnes says
6 December 2015 at 12:34 pmThanks for you kind words Ann, i’ll try and keep them coming.
george louis says
25 November 2015 at 5:12 pmThat’s a lovely tale, I love seeing wrens they are such a indomitable little presence ☺
Simon Barnes says
6 December 2015 at 12:34 pmI remember years ago looking for a bird which was making such an explosive noise in a wood. Couldn’t believe it when I found my wren.
Debby Horsman says
25 November 2015 at 6:14 pmand they are so loud when annoyed. I’ve been told that a bluetit weighs the same as a £1 coin; does a wren perhaps weigh the same as a farthing?
Simon Barnes says
6 December 2015 at 12:33 pmA lovely notion, in Zambia the now defunct One Ngwei coin had an aardvark on the back. I had one (coin not beast) but I lost it, a real tragedy!
Olly says
25 November 2015 at 11:17 pmWrens are utterly fabulous little survivors. Even though they are ubiquitous, seeing one close enough to appreciate its under-stated, simple beauty is always an absolute pleasure.
I was lucky enough to watch one busy foraging from around 4 feet away recently. It was a little ball of pure energy, constantly on the move, only stopping to belt out his absurdly loud song. Glorious.
Simon Barnes says
6 December 2015 at 12:31 pmTheir defiance is an inspiration to us all.
Michael John Clark says
26 November 2015 at 9:50 amSuch a loud song for such a diminutive bird. Small singers with powerful voices? Elvis Costello? Not quite so melodic!
Simon Barnes says
6 December 2015 at 12:31 pmHere’s a fascinating face – a humpback whale song sounds like a nightingale.