Claxton, Norfolk I reached the river Yare when the sun’s first effect was a band of exquisite apricot that shaded incrementally colder overhead
According to the veteran chronicler of English slang Jonathon Green, the expression “sparrow’s-fart” is a late 19th-century coinage, when country folk knew a thing or two about dawns.
All I can say is that while Claxton sparrows were busy and loud when I got back to the house, as I left it at 3.55am they were silent. The early birds were song thrush and blackbird, whose music rose and pooled in the woods beyond the houses and down the dell, by the gate, where the marsh begins.
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Source: Guardian Environment