There’s little to do in the frosty garden – except feed the birds
In the Danish winter garden, the only seed is bird feed. A fat pheasant, alert but unconcerned, puffs her exquisite feathers and feasts on sunflower seed. Later, she takes a stately stroll past the floor-length windows, a catwalk exercise in elegance. She will soon be joined by her gaudier but dimmer mate, who will endlessly pose on his favoured stumps. I crush grain-studded fat balls for where they walk.
The bird-feeders are alive. Clouds of greenfinches sometimes clutter the trees. There are chaffinches and goldfinch, hawfinches like in my Devon childhood, and puffed-up pink-chested bullfinches. A pair of spotted woodpeckers nests in the trees. Many types of tit gather around the forsythia, using its shelter to make raids on seed. Goldcrests flutter, like moths.