The Quiet Paths

There is something rather special about arriving at a nature reserve before most of the world has woken up.

On a quiet June morning, while visiting family in Newport, I slipped away for a few peaceful hours at the RSPB Newport Wetlands. The sun had only just begun to warm the reedbeds, the paths were almost deserted, and the reserve belonged almost entirely to its wildlife.

It was one of those mornings where there was no real destination. Instead, I wandered slowly along the winding paths, stopping whenever something caught my eye or ear.

The reedbeds were alive with song. Reed warblers chattered constantly from deep within the stems, always announcing their presence but rarely allowing themselves to be seen. Sedge warblers, by contrast, seemed much bolder, climbing to the tops of the reeds to deliver their wonderfully rambling songs before diving back into cover.

A chiffchaff called repeatedly from the woodland edge, its familiar refrain accompanying much of the morning, while somewhere beyond the reeds a cuckoo announced itself with that unmistakable call that seems to define early summer.

There is a quietness to wetlands that I have always found restorative. Nothing dramatic happens, yet there is always life unfolding somewhere among the reeds if you are prepared to slow down and wait.

For a few hours that morning, that was exactly what I did.