It’s the beginning of September. The marshes are getting wetter, some of the leaves are falling and the air is cool.

Rain showers come and go, clouds scud across the sky, and birds fill it.

There are hundreds of Swallows and House Martins and Sand Martins feeding on the rich soup of insects flying above the marsh.

Moorhens probe the water’s edge and occasionally, if I’m lucky, I’ll spot a water rail, because I can hear them all the time. That and Cetti’s warbler who I never see.

Ravens are dancing in the wind, talking to one another with a sound that was only recently very rare here.

Kestrels hover overhead, quite a contrast to the Ravens.

Bird migration is fully underway, so there are many new visitors. Spotted flycatchers are catching flies to my left. Common and Green Sandpipers feed in the margins of the pool, where a week ago we stomped the vegetation just for them. Could another type of wading bird appear? A Knot? A Godwit? A Ruff?

There’s the possibility of something very unusual stopping off to feed here on their journey. There are too few places as perfect as this for food rest and shelter for a migrating bird on such long journeys in such changeable weather. But if nobody sees it, nobody would ever know.

There’s only one thing for it. I’ll have to sit and watch the marsh for as long as I can to see what stops by. A Whinchat, a Wheatear? A Bluethroat? A White Winged Cliff chat?

It’s a good job I have a waterproof coat and a big flask of coffee. I could be some time.