I recounted in a recent column about the spectacular dusk flights of mute swans near Alva as they head to their night-time roosts, and one afternoon last week, I discovered another large group of swans resting in a field by the River Devon a short distance upstream from Menstrie.

It was marvellous sight watching these swans socialising together, and it seemed as if they were enjoying the comfort of being with their own kind. Adult mute swans tend to pair for life, and I imagine these birds were non-breeders.

It is a picturesque stretch of the river here, and in a nearby ploughed field, I was thrilled to spot a large flock of about 50 lapwings.

They are declining birds, and it was thrilling to watch them wheeling about in the air on floppy wings, before settling on the ground.

A few pairs breed on the local flood meadows each year, and in my new book on a wildlife year on the River Devon, ‘If Rivers Could Sing’ (Tippermuir Books), I wrote about the incredible aerial courtship display of a male lapwing I had encountered last spring.

I wrote: “Calling excitedly, the lapwing rose steeply on slow and measured wing beats, swept around in a wide circle, gained height again and then, zoom! Down he plunged and rolled, twisting this way and that, his broad wings all over the place and somewhat akin to a crazy kite spiralling out of control. But this lapwing knew exactly what he was doing and at the last moment, when a crash landing seemed inevitable, he stalled and alighted on the ground”.

As I made my way back upstream towards Alva, I found a hanging wire-mesh bird feeder in a hedge, which had been placed by some kind soul. Several long-tailed tits swarmed over it, feeding avidly and twittering excitedly.

They are such charismatic birds, with delicate features and a distinctive long tail. I watched them for a while, drawn by their compelling beauty and busy behaviour, but dusk was approaching, and it was time to head for home.