Country diary: Even just a glimpse of a crested tit is a gift | Amanda Thomson

Abernethy, Cairngorms, Scottish Highlands: The tits are gathering into their winter flocks – and from among them comes a high trill, almost like a giggleIt’s been a mild autumn this year, with perhaps only one morning with a light frost so far, and the temperatures have remained above freezing even into November. The year’s moving inexorably on, though, and you can feel it in the pinewoods, where the gloaming starts even earlier than in the open. In among the Scots pines, the golds and yellows of the leaves that still linger on some of the birches and the bright splashes of red rowan berries seem to glow in the low autumn sun. There are still one or two lovely heads of purple devil’s‐bit scabious too.A wren trills loudly from somewhere inside an old juniper bush, but for a good 20 minutes the woods are near-silent. I’m distracted by tiny movements to my left, accompanied by the chatter of birdcalls. Suddenly there’s a frenzy of to-ing and fro‐ing between birches, a larch, the pines and junipers – great, blue and coal tits, restlessly flitting, beginning to gather in their winter flocks. Continue reading...