halftwo
Wird Batcher
Beyond the flat, billiard table flat, farmland, ending at the hawthorn hedge, the vast expanse of reed bed and marsh stretches out towards the estuary. The sky hangs low and grey, long and low, draping the distant and faded ridge.
Reeds - row upon row - tall and dormant, stand in millions, a whole sea of spears thrust above the water. Here and there pools where duck find refuge: Shoveler, Teal, Gadwall & Shelduck. At the wet edges amongst the cut, Snipe probe, perfectly camouflaged in straw-striped plumage in the straw.
Out in the open Spotted redshanks probe and walk where ducks swim. Water rails squeal, Wigeon whistle.
Along the hedge Fieldfares chatter and gather with Wood pigeons to feast.
The long dusk begins. Light begins to fade and blur. Distances disappear. A Marsh harrier floats in - dihedral wings over the reeds, silent, dark. Gadwall croak alarms. This one a young female, dark and creamy headed, it lands to perch on a fence post.
Now others begin to come in across the long and flat browns of the marshes. Getting closer, floating and gliding, carrying the dusk in with buoyant wings. Silhouettes slowly gaining colour as they close: adult females, juveniles, and an adult male in his tricoloured glory: greys, browns and black.
The southern sky takes on salmon shades, brighter than noon day greys. Coming in from the north a male Hen harrier descends towards the pools, showing his pale beauty: a sub-adult male, superb in pallid splendour, coal-tipped wings and pearl greys. Gravity struggles to pull him to earth, he floats without effort, trying to fall to roost.
And in the background more harriers close in, gliding home. Beyond and above thousands of waders smudge the sky, up from the rising tide. Lines of gulls head East.
The thunderous bellow of five hundred Greylags billows into the evening: their cries in layers of sound.
Another Marsh Harrier floats in and circles. It puts a Bearded tit to flight, its pings ping from the phragmites as it panics below the raptor.
Two hundred Starlings low against the reeds meet the sight of a harrier and they turn as one on a stall - their wings as a wave on a beach as it breaks, rushes and retreats.
Moorhens head for cover as night falls and Fieldfares take a drink before they roost.
Now the low land and the low sky begin to fuse: the long dusk gives up the day.
Reeds - row upon row - tall and dormant, stand in millions, a whole sea of spears thrust above the water. Here and there pools where duck find refuge: Shoveler, Teal, Gadwall & Shelduck. At the wet edges amongst the cut, Snipe probe, perfectly camouflaged in straw-striped plumage in the straw.
Out in the open Spotted redshanks probe and walk where ducks swim. Water rails squeal, Wigeon whistle.
Along the hedge Fieldfares chatter and gather with Wood pigeons to feast.
The long dusk begins. Light begins to fade and blur. Distances disappear. A Marsh harrier floats in - dihedral wings over the reeds, silent, dark. Gadwall croak alarms. This one a young female, dark and creamy headed, it lands to perch on a fence post.
Now others begin to come in across the long and flat browns of the marshes. Getting closer, floating and gliding, carrying the dusk in with buoyant wings. Silhouettes slowly gaining colour as they close: adult females, juveniles, and an adult male in his tricoloured glory: greys, browns and black.
The southern sky takes on salmon shades, brighter than noon day greys. Coming in from the north a male Hen harrier descends towards the pools, showing his pale beauty: a sub-adult male, superb in pallid splendour, coal-tipped wings and pearl greys. Gravity struggles to pull him to earth, he floats without effort, trying to fall to roost.
And in the background more harriers close in, gliding home. Beyond and above thousands of waders smudge the sky, up from the rising tide. Lines of gulls head East.
The thunderous bellow of five hundred Greylags billows into the evening: their cries in layers of sound.
Another Marsh Harrier floats in and circles. It puts a Bearded tit to flight, its pings ping from the phragmites as it panics below the raptor.
Two hundred Starlings low against the reeds meet the sight of a harrier and they turn as one on a stall - their wings as a wave on a beach as it breaks, rushes and retreats.
Moorhens head for cover as night falls and Fieldfares take a drink before they roost.
Now the low land and the low sky begin to fuse: the long dusk gives up the day.
