We had found, not just a footpath towards the elusive Fin Cop, but a road… things were looking up. The road climbed the heights so perhaps we wouldn’t have to… an unusual bonus for a hillfort, though we weren’t counting on that. Just because it looked as if we were level with our desired destination didn’t mean there wouldn’t be cliffs, gorges and other obstacles in between. The hills cluster close together and although they look like gentle slopes, it is easy to forget that here you are already very high. The hills of Derbyshire are part of the Pennine range, the ‘backbone of England’, and while the peaks rise to a fair height, the steady rise in the land itself makes them seem smaller, while below them networks of caves and mines plunge deep into the earth. It can be a treacherous place for the unwary, yet the land here is incredibly beautiful.

First things first, though… we had even found a car park and a pub, so grabbing a little liquid refreshment in the old stable block and navigating the uneven, original stable floor with its drainage channels, we sat in the garden area to regroup. Beside our table a dry stone wall bounded the garden, covered in the rich green of moss. A sparrow flew in… then another, and another… and within minutes we were being treated to a close quarter encounter with a small flock of birds.

They are used to dining at the pub, it seems, and fearlessly hop between the tables in search of crumbs. Few seem even to notice the little brown birds… they have no showy, brilliantly coloured plumage and they are small enough to sit in the palm of your hand. It is as if they are deemed too ordinary to be worthy of notice. Had they been peacocks or some other jewel coloured creature, everyone would have been looking, but these little ones passed almost unnoticed. Look closer though and their markings are beautiful.

It seems tragic not to see these friendly little birds that were once so common, when they have declined so sharply, with a drop of over seventy per cent in the last thirty years. We have a thing about birds, though, and sat entranced as we watched them play amongst the stones and mosses within touching distance, diving down in small groups to bathe in the dust at our feet or checking for stray crumbs as soon as one of us vacated a seat, taking our place before the warmth of our bodies faded.

To be fair, had you not looked when a flutter of movement caught the eye you would barely have seen, so well do they blend into the colours and contours of the landscape. They are easy to overlook if you are not engaged with the surroundings and most of us are too focussed on our own lives to notice the drab little creatures, feathered in earth tones. Yet this was a magical encounter; the little distance of choice remained, preserving safety, yet we felt as if they were playing with us as well as allowing us a glimpse through the windows of their world. An ordinary, everyday magic, easy to miss, not notice in the rush to be who we think we are… yet they are part of our world as we are part of theirs. They have learned to rely on what we discard to supplement their diet, on the creepers and walls of our homes and gardens for shelter and in return they greet us with song every morning. What other ordinary magic, hidden in plain sight,  do we miss each day, I wonder?