18th October 2023
The relentless drizzle had transformed our field into a patchwork of glistening puddles. Few green blades of grass, just grey puddles reflecting the leaden sky. A new habitat perhaps?
Drawn by the waters, flocks of starlings arrived, their speckled plumage gleaming against the grey backdrop. They alighted with a flurry of wings onto the makeshift islands, their chatter livening up the drabness. Their beady eyes darted, scanning the water’s surface for morsels, their movements a blur of avian industry.
But the stars of this soggy symphony were the Egrets and Grey Herons. Tall and elegant, they stalked the flooded fields with an air of regal entitlement. Their long, sinuous necks dipped and probed, their sharp beaks spearing unsuspecting invertebrates from the murky depths. Each successful strike elicited a guttural croak, a triumphant fanfare echoing through the wet air.
Their movements were almost balletic. The Egrets, poised and delicate, walked across the water, their snowy plumage a stark contrast to the muddy green canvas. The Grey Herons, larger and more imposing, waded with measured steps, their piercing yellow eyes missing nothing.
This soggy interlude, born from the whims of the weather, has transformed our familiar field into a vibrant wetland teeming with life. It was a reminder that even the most mundane corners have the potential for unexpected beauty.
