On a warm humid late afternoon in July I'm in Bushy park,sitting on the rotting stump of a massive old oak in the long grass.

Around me,small skipper butterflies skip from clover to clover flowers imbibing a final top up before roosting while meadow grasshoppers chirp softly.

High above,three skylarks sing,only two of them just visible while the third is lost to view below cloud level.One bird pours out his glorious melody for a full seven minutes before plummeting down into the grass a few metres away.

In the distance,drifting slowly towards me are threatening black clouds accompanied by rumbling thunder.

A flock of about a hundred black headed gulls flies in tight circles.Every few seconds a bird flaps his wings rapidly and stops suddenly before resuming his flight.The birds are 'anting',picking out of the sky individual flying ants as they swirl upwards in a mating swarm.The ants are everywhere,warmth and barometric pressure triggering a mass emergence from nests over a very wide area.

Above the gulls speed swifts,also taking advantage of a feeding bonanza although the plump ants are rather larger than their normal prey.

Surviving mated queen ants return to earth,break off their wings that are no longer needed and walk around searching for a suitable nesting site,while males die.

We will only witness such swarms on a few occasions and only if the weather is hot and humid.

Suddenly,large drops of rain begin to fall so I take my leave but still the skylarks sing,seemingly unconcerned about the oncoming storm.