Country diary: ringing the changes in the bird population

Bedgebury Pinetum, Kent Checked and weighed by surer hands than mine, I felt the hollow-boned weightlessness of a blue tit in the cup of my palm

There's something extraordinary about holding a bird in the palm of your hand. For me, out bird-ringing with volunteers from the British Trust for Ornithology one brisk November morning, it was a blue tit. It had been checked and weighed by surer hands than mine and then placed delicately in the cup of my palm. A familiar bird transformed by such proximity. I felt the hollow-boned weightlessness of it, the fast-fluttering life that sat there for a moment, looking around with black-bead eyes. Its feathers were iridescent in the low slant of the winter sun. Then it was gone, up into the trees, and it was as if I'd lost something precious.

We were at Bedgebury Pinetum in Kent just after dawn. It was a blustery day and the pines soughed and sighed, the resident ravens cronking overhead. High in the canopy were hawfinches and crossbills, birds that twitchers come from miles to see. We had set mist nets near the pinetum's eastern edge, up above the lily pond. These nets are so fine as to appear transparent to the birds, who fly into soft pockets and are gently dandled until they can be extracted, ringed and measured.