Thursday, November 24, 2016
A red kite, about to perch on top of a big old oak, angles a forked tail precisely, this way then that, whilst it’s wings just seem to flow with the wind, like washing on a line.
A buzzard, surveying a corner of a hedged-in field, spreads out it’s tail feathers and wings to their maximum width to turn a quick and perfectly drawn circle of less than one wingspan.
A kestrel hovers on the wind, holding a steady position, the long tail held dead straight whilst the wings do the business.
On a top broken branch of a dead and blackened tree beside the silvery River Mole, the silent silhouette of a motionless cormorant.