There’s a Heron in the pond at Pennington Flash. It’s having what seems to be a lazy morning, except it’s rigid and ever-aware. The rest of the nesting birds are wary of it, as it could easily eat a chick. It fluffs up its feathers and opens its beak as it’s attacked by a Black-Headed Gull:
The gulls are noisy and insistent.
When they go away the Heron returns to gazing at the surface of the water and moving its feet imperceptibly slowly. I watch it, arm aching with the weight of my camera and telephoto lens, finger cramping as it presses the shutter button, waiting for it to strike.
It does nothing for half an hour.
I decide to ring my mum and as I chat it catches a Pike and swallows it.
At least I caught the tail. My mum thinks I’ve dropped my phone. She’s not far wrong.