A pair of swans on the floral bank of the RIver Kent in Kendal The swan sat amidst lush vegetation on the bank of the RIver Kent which flowed fast and high after days of rain. Her mate lay half-hidden by umbellifers and I leant over the railing on the riverside walk to see more closely. A pair of mallard swam by and dipper flew upstream. Yesterday, house martin fed low over the river, their rumps a flash of white against the dark water. At last, the cob raised his head. Hidden by stems of umbellifers, a spread of soft grey lay heaped on the river bank, like a discarded sheep's fleece. Within the softness, their brood of cygnets.
Click on images to enlarge and to read captions
One of the adult swans was on sentry duty, watching the river. No need to watch the riverside walk because no one else gave the river a second glance, no-one else saw the swans and their brood concealed in flowers. One of those mornings when the life of the river and the life of the town were alongside each other, and apart.
The pulsating life of that brood of cygnets was a delight. From an amorphous mass of soft greys amidst the flowers, snake-heads rose Medusa-like- exploring a world strange and new. How many snake-heads had Medusa- preening slate-grey bills. Heads rose on long, supple necks from the warmth and softness of a pillow of down, wispy down. Snake-head and bill rose distinct and nuzzled back into the pillow, each cygnet itself for an instant and merging once more into the warmth of the brood. A bill smoothed and explored what might have been a new wing, nibbling, nibbling the length of incipient feathers amongst the down. Where are my promised feathers, when will I find them and which are mine? Who and what am I in all of this?
As a nature writer, I've always been intent on taking photographs for books and for this blog. In the last year I have begun to make videos and they're fun. Today's videos capture the fast-flowing river and what seems like still-life is transformed into tiny movements that tell what's happening here. Preening, and tending to feathers will be a constant preoccupation for swans, for all birds. Their survival depends upon it. During the half- hour or more I watched swans and cygnets the brood was preoccupied with preening. I never saw them feed.
The pulsating life of that brood of cygnets was a delight. From an amorphous mass of soft greys amidst the flowers, snake-heads rose Medusa-like- exploring a world strange and new. How many snake-heads had Medusa- preening slate-grey bills. Heads rose on long, supple necks from the warmth and softness of a pillow of down, wispy down. Snake-head and bill rose distinct and nuzzled back into the pillow, each cygnet itself for an instant and merging once more into the warmth of the brood. A bill smoothed and explored what might have been a new wing, nibbling, nibbling the length of incipient feathers amongst the down. Where are my promised feathers, when will I find them and which are mine? Who and what am I in all of this?
As a nature writer, I've always been intent on taking photographs for books and for this blog. In the last year I have begun to make videos and they're fun. Today's videos capture the fast-flowing river and what seems like still-life is transformed into tiny movements that tell what's happening here. Preening, and tending to feathers will be a constant preoccupation for swans, for all birds. Their survival depends upon it. During the half- hour or more I watched swans and cygnets the brood was preoccupied with preening. I never saw them feed.
RSS Feed