The village we live in is built on rock with two main streams flowing through it. They start as springs on the Preseli hills gathering more water as they tumble down to the river Brynberian, which joins the Nevern to enter the sea at Newport. The chapel stands on the highest point. The houses are nearly all old. Our garden has one of the streams as a boundary. It runs in a deep channel down to the road, where a bridge has been replaced by a culvert under the tarmacadam.

There's been one flood in living memory: we hadn't kept the culvert clear. But this year we've had another surprise. There were village wells before the water was piped here. Long ago, a footbridge was built over one of the streams for easy access to a well. It was made of two boulders with pieces of thick slate taking it from bank to boulders to bank. This autumn the bridge has been swept away by the water, the stones carried down stream. And still the weather is wet and windy. However, some birds are using it for fun. The correspondence columns of British Birds have reported both carrion crows and rooks hanging down or somersaulting on electricity wires. They're enjoying themselves.

This autumn we've seen flocks of rooks rocketing into the air, like humans into a rough sea, to play with the air waves. One bird was flying backwards. It knew where it wanted to land and was able to dance with the wind to get there. Rooks gather on the chapel green to use the great wetness for more practical pursuits. This land is a kind of rough pasture although it is cut in the summer. There are wild flowers like bulbous and meadow buttercups.

Following research done at Denmark Farm Conservation Centre near Lampeter, I would guess that if you stood on the green wearing size 10 shoes you could have 1,106 invertebrates below you. On a rye grass field the equivalent number would be 86. The rooks peck and munch, joined by magpies and jackdaws. It's the time for cornucopia.