The humble chough often doesn't get a second glance along the Cornish coastline. Easily dismissed as 'another crow' until the light's just right and you might spot their splash of red. Admittedly, they haven't got the showy size, speed, song or visual flair of some of their more revered avian counterparts. But, they hold a special place in my heart.

Absent for almost 30 years, until they happened to naturally return at the start of the 21st century, choughs are a symbol of Cornwall that are back from the brink and seemingly thriving. Loudly calling their name along the clifftops, frequently as a prelude to their stunning aerobatics. Theirs is the endearing story of an underdog succeeding against the odds, and who doesn't love that?

But, it also runs deeper for me. They are a symbol of home interwoven with my life. I think of them seeking refuge in their roost around Christmas when the wind was so fierce that it blew the mulled wine out of my mug. Glimpsing their sunset courtship dance while I was waddling about waiting for our overdue baby to arrive. Or seeing a pair and their brood of semi-fledged chicks on our first family trip away, my binoculars perched on top of our 3-month old sleeping in his sling. When I hear their call, it feels like home. So, when I saw our local pair with four chicks earlier this month perched above our now-toddler playing on the beach, I felt a wave of joy.

These cycles of life we live through side-by-side, If only we take the time to notice.