Birdspeed

Squawk. Vroom. What's the fastest bird in the world? 

That's not the lead in to a joke, by the way. And the answer is not the swift, for that doesn't even make the top five, despite its impressive maximum airspeed of 100 miles per hour (or 160km/h if you prefer). 

When it comes to  birdspeed , the accolade goes to the peregrine, a falcon which is capable of speeds in excess of an astonishing 240mph (or 385 km/h). That's faster than the quickest F1 racing car (233mph or 375 km/h) and only slightly slower than the WWII Hawker Hurricane, the first RAF plane to fly in excess of 300mph (480 km/h). Some physicists have calculated that theoretically the peregrine might be capable of even higher speeds at altitude, of up to 380mph (608 km/h). That's simply mind-boggling. 

As well as being the fastest bird, the peregrine (the falcon part is optional) is also the quickest of all animals on the planet. No wonder then that it was revered by the Ancient Egyptians as the god Horus.

a peregrine soaring

The peregrine (Falco peregrinus) is a raptor, or bird of prey. It is the second most widespread bird species on earth, being found everywhere except in the polar extremities and New Zealand. Before you ask, the most widespread bird is the pigeon - which is good news for the peregrine, because its diet consists almost exclusively of birds, and pigeon makes up the majority of its food, though it will also eat any other medium-sized birds it can get its claws on (waterfowl, game birds, seabirds, songbirds, waders, the lot).

The peregrine has a body length between 12 and 24 inches (34 to 58cm) and a wingspan from  29 to 47 inches (74 to 120cm). The male and female have similar markings and plumage but, as with many birds of prey, the peregrine displays marked sexual dimorphism in size, the female being up to 30% larger and heavier than the male. Peregrines can live for up to twenty years in the wild, though mortality rates are high in the first few years (50 to 75% of birds don't make it to two years old). 

As mentioned, the peregrine subsists mainly on other birds. It catches most of its prey on the wing, which is where its diving skills and incredible airspeed come in. It will hover above and then swoop.  With a force of up to 25g acting on its little body, it's amazing it doesn't black out or get shredded by the buffeting air as it descends. It clips its prey in one wing, to minimise the force of impact.

a peregrine diving

The fact that it remains intact is down to its incredible aerodynamic efficiency, its very powerful beak and the streamlined shape it maintains in the dive. Its nostrils are protected by small bony tubercles which guide the powerful airflow away from the intakes, enabling it to breathe more easily by reducing the change in air pressure. In addition, it uses a third eyelid to spread tears and clear debris from the eyes while maintaining vision. And the peregrine has a flicker fusion frequency of 129 Hz (cycles per second), which is very fast for a bird of its size, and much faster than mammals. All of which makes it the perfect hunting bird. And it is no coincidence that the most modern American stealth fighter plane mimics the peregrine's aerodynamic lines. The B-2 Spirit has an airspeed of 628mph (1010 km/h)

American B-2 'Spirit' stealth fighter

Just for the sake of completeness, the other four birds that have recorded a faster airspeed than the swift are the saker falcon, golden eagle, grey-headed albatross and the gyrfalcon. But bear in mind that all of the above achieve that remarkable velocity while diving. The record for the fastest confirmed level flight by a bird is 69.3 mph (111.5 km/h) and that is held by the common swift.

If you want to read a poem about a falcon, I refer you to Gerard Manley Hopkins' brilliant 'The Windhover', though the "dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon" of his poem was actually a kestrel. 

My new poem takes an altogether different approach to the week's theme, and it comes with the usual caveat about it being a first draft/work in progress. It's a narrative poem based on a true event, the night I didn't get to see Josef K's London debut at a Camden music venue...

Birdspeed

Dim lights,  black walls,  a DJ in thrall

to the high water mark of sixties jangle

as prologue to the new sound  in  town.

There's a buzz in the club for these four

Scottish lads and I stand, beer in hand,

when one of their tribe, by the sound of

her slurred brogue,  engages me in talk

about how your boots stick to this floor 

and do I have their album? Do I like it?

She says how great they are live, more

potent in  person, loud,  raw, sexy, and

poised to conquer. I might smile at her

monologue, cannot recall later if I gave

any  other  signs of encouragement, but

suddenly  I'm  pinned to the wall as she

presses her body up against mine hands

either side of my face kissing, with her

tongue probing my mouth. I'm shocked.

Is this Scottish for seduction? She's not

unattractive, but that's not the point. I'm 

locked in an embrace with someone I've 

only just met, don't even know her name 

yet and it feels presumptuous, predatory,

feral, as if I've been swooped upon from a

great height by a bright-eyed bird of prey

and it's not at all a turn on, I can tell you.

I squirm out of her clutches, mutter about

needing to do something and head for the

gents, buy time buying condoms, think...

She'll have eyes on the door for sure and

though I've never done so before, out by

the window seems the best bet, a tight fit

but I drop into the yard, breathing hard on

cold night air, then up over a wall to slip 

off into the safety of Camden, taste of her

Southern Comfort still on my bruised lips.

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Pathways

It's the summer of 1981. I'm in a long-term relationship with Ms X (a divorcee who might have left her husband to be with me) and we've bought a house together near Bethnal Green in East London. We both have good jobs which we enjoy, a wide circle of friends, a metropolitan social life, and we talk of having kids one day when the time is right. Life seems good and to all intents and purposes, we're set (as they say).

But within weeks, a new young woman has joined the company I work for, as part of the team I'm in. Before too long, (you've guessed it), Ms Y and I fall in love. I used to wonder why stuff like this happens to people who seem perfectly happy. Now I know. Everything has suddenly changed. It's all about love's mysterious pathways to the heart. I write a poem about how this metamorphosis feels and give it a planetary spin:

Metamorphosis

At a still small point
between ignorance and bliss,
something changed…
atoms re-arranged,
a cosmic combination clicking into place
to unlock such graceful possibilities
as tilt a world
into orbits new and strange.

To invert Joni Mitchell's "You don't know what you've got till it's gone", this feels more like "You don't know what you haven't got till it's there." Written in the stars? That's just a metaphor, right? 

Conflicted by a loyalty I feel to Miss X which is at odds with the fact that I desperately want to be with Miss Y, and not wanting to carry on an illicit affair, I choose to embrace the new pathway and break up the long-term relationship. It is messy.

There is guilt, of course, but there is also such happiness, even if this is the road to perdition. The fallout is considerable. My parents and some friends think I'm a bad person. (In fact my mother refuses to talk to me for months.) I thank goodness Ms X and I have no children that need to be taken into account in this reckoning.

Eventually the dust settles, and as for the road to perdition, Miss Y and I go on to marry, have two beautiful daughters and spend the next twenty-two years together. 

Pathways to the Heart

For those of you who think it is also merely metaphor to talk of the heart (rather than the brain) as the seat of love, you might be interested in this piece from an article about neural pathways and 'heart memory':

 
"Science just proved your heart holds memory - measured,  peer-reviewed, biological fact. The human heart contains an intrinsic neural network, emits a structured, coherent electromagnetic field, and demonstrates synaptic, biochemical, and geometric mechanisms for encoding information - comparable to memory centres in the brain.

Neuroscience researchers have documented over 40,000 neurons embedded within the heart wall. These form ganglia, display synaptic plasticity, and operate with a degree of autonomy once thought exclusive to the brain. This changes everything we thought we knew about where memory lives.

The Intrinsic Cardiac Nervous System (ICNS) is capable of sensory processing, short-term memory encoding, and bidirectional brain communication. Cardiac neurons express acetylcholine, norepinephrine, and dopamine - the same neurotransmitters used in hippocampal memory. They learn, adapt, and remember.

Peer-reviewed studies show heart neurons are organized in ganglia, supported by glial scaffolding, contain microtubules (linked to quantum coherence), and encode memory via phase-locked vibrational patterns - mirroring brain-based spatiotemporal memory mechanisms.

The heart emits a magnetic field up to 5,000x stronger than the brain’s, extending up to 2 meters, measurable via magnetocardiography (MCG), and modulated by emotional state. This field is structured, not random—and communicates coherent signals via afferent pathways to the brain. Its waveform encodes not just rhythm, but affective state.

What is more, peer-review case studies reveal memory transfer in heart transplant cases, with recipients inheriting donor-specific traits: food cravings, emotional tendencies, even handwriting. One 8-year-old began dreaming of being murdered - details matched the donor’s cause of death. Another woman developed cravings for chicken nuggets and beer - never consumed them before, but her donor had loved both. These cases defy standard neuroscience but align with cardiac memory field models.

Memory = geometry + coherence + frequency. The heart acts as a morphogenetic field archive. Heart neurons store identity through phase-locked resonance. Healing is signal restoration. This model merges neurocardiology, biophotonics, fractal neuroscience, and field dynamics. Your heart doesn’t just beat. It remembers."

Mulling over the possible implications of all of the heart stuff above on my train journey back from Liverpool to Blackpool this evening, I devised the following darkly comic poem (subject to modification in the days to come).

Change Of Heart

Caroline was one delighted wife

to have her husband back

after a massive cardiac arrest

nearly stole his life. He had

a rotten heart, but luckily

a donor organ enabled 

Frank to enjoy a fresh start. 

They met the grieving widow,

Jane, to thank her for Tom's gift

and to commiserate. For all three,

affairs would never be the same

again. But soon, apart from new 

vigour, Frank developed 

an appetite for things he'd never

been partial to before:

oysters, whisky, marmalade, 

football (Port Vale -Tom's team),

bird-watching, showers not baths

and making love doggy-fashion.

A rift began to show, his wife

not so delighted anymore, And

Frank, behind her back, sought

out the lonely widow on his own.

They found a rapturous passion 

in each other and soon he realised

he no longer loved poor Caroline,

her timid nature, her fussy ways.

He was bound to leave her. Only

how to explain what he felt, that

his heart really belonged to Jane.

As for the phrase about pathways to the heart, let me take you back to 1981 again, to one of my favourite LPs of that year by the Scottish band Josef K. This is from their album 'The Only Fun In Town'. Just click on the song title: Heart Of Song  Enjoy!

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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