In they fly, in dibs and drabs, in twos and threes, from fields afar.
Not to some ancient rookery – but to here, this back-end car park in the centre of town.
On warm dusky nights there can be up to 200, or more, of them wheeling and whiffling their way around in raucous rook ribaldry.
They seem to know when night has finally fallen; for there’s a sudden mad calamity to claim the best beds in the branches of the tallest beeches (well, in any tall tree that keeps them the highest above really)
I lay down each night with 200 sleeping rooks around my bed. Cosy!
Video and Words: Ian Nisbet