Living on the edge of a market town close to London, our evening
soundscape is quite meagre. Rustling often turns out to be merely the neighbour
watering their plants.
Police/ambulance sirens also feature.
However in a villa on a wooded hill in Tuscany we had a taste of what the
soundscape could be. Perhaps this was
how it used to be in our country.
We could hear the chirring of nightjars, the staccato chirping of crickets, the distant liquid song of a nightjar.
A tawny owl called too-wit too-woo and a fox barked. A badger rustled
heavily just beyond the fence.
But the creature which completely defied identification was something which
inhabited the bushes near the terrace and at regular intervals uttered a harsh “Pssst!”
as if trying to attract our attention.
I did not even know whether it was a bird, reptile or mammal, so went
online to research. I was just playing a
wildlife recording when Carenza happened along. (The offspring had joined us
for this leg of the journey.)
“What are you doing, Mum?”
“I’m listening to recordings of Tuscan owls.”
“Oh Mum!” she said, turning on her heel. “I’ve never heard anything so
middle class in my life!”
And no, I never did find out what went "Pssst".
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