A walk along the cliff tops. A south westerly; impossible migration.
Yet Starlings passed me in flocks and Meadow Pipits tripped along the cliff face. Seven Great Spotted Woodpeckers dotted within the woods, when yesterday there had been none. In from the sea a tired squadron of Fieldfare; riding the coast a ‘V’ of Brents. Flushed from the path a baker’s dozen of Snow Bunting and riding over the fields a shape shifting formation of Golden Plover.
A south westerly; impossible migration?
Letter From Norfolk 
Wonderful!
Many thanks.