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.
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