As I approached the main pool at the Blackdevon Wetlands by the edge of Alloa, a high-pitched honking gradually increased in intensity.
They were the calls of Canada geese and on reaching the hide that overlooks the water, I could see numerous birds bobbing about on the pool.
Whilst they were undeniably attractive birds, I watched them with mixed emotions, for Canada geese do not belong here and are an introduced species, with their numbers increasing all the time.
They can out-compete our native waterfowl, and in the nesting season can be very territorial, disturbing ducks and other water birds from nesting safely nearby.
By the edge of the water, several flowering spikes of purple-loosestrife provided the perfect foreground to the geese.
According to Richard Mabey in his book Flora Briannica, "loose-strife" is a literal translation of the Greek name for the plant, which in classical times was believed to be so powerful that "if placed on the yoke of inharmonious oxen, [it] will restrain their quarrelling."
Nearby, nestled several clusters of a less imposing but similar looking plant – marsh woundwort.
In the past, it was used by herbalists to treat wounds, and the young shoots can be cooked and eaten like asparagus – although they apparently have an unpalatable smell.
By the edge of the boardwalk that leads to the hide, thick swathes of reeds swayed in the warm breeze.
In Britain, the reed has the distinction of being the tallest non-woody native plant.
It can also tolerate brackish and even polluted waters.
In autumn, reeds take on a slightly purple hue as the seeds develop.
In winter, the heads are fluffy and the reed stems die off, giving the familiar straw-coloured appearance.
Whilst observing the geese, I spotted a lone dabchick on the pool, which dived under the water every so often, although the low autumnal sun made it challenging to get a good view of the bird.
However, a few days earlier on a weedy pond in Edinburgh, I had watched another dabchick with a pale fluffed rear-end and chestnut cheek patches dive under the water continuously.
On one occasion, the bird surfaced with a wriggling minnow grasped in the bill, which was shaken vigorously to disable it.
Once the dabchick was satisfied its capture had succumbed, the fish was juggled around and swallowed headfirst.
The dabchick looked up at me, before roll-diving back under in search of another minnow, leaving behind silver-glinted ripples on the pond surface that shimmered and sparkled as if in celebration of the enticing beauty of nature.
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