Female Kestrel, Helsington Barrows Out of the blue, a female kestrel. She illuminates the day. Hovering, she is mantled in shadows. The poise and grace of the falcon as she scans the earth. Angel-messenger in a winter sky. She knows of old the secret life of the place. She swoops, flies low across the slope and alights in larch trees. Hidden, I cannot tell if she has prey.
She is the highlight of a winter's morning. Unexpected. I was seeking winter thrush, heard mistle-thrush and a lone fieldfare, redwing perhaps. The yew trees seemed bare of fruit, those fleshy red arils the birds love.
Then the falcon appears, out of the blue and nothing else is. She arrests time.
She is the highlight of a winter's morning. Unexpected. I was seeking winter thrush, heard mistle-thrush and a lone fieldfare, redwing perhaps. The yew trees seemed bare of fruit, those fleshy red arils the birds love.
Then the falcon appears, out of the blue and nothing else is. She arrests time.
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