The Buzzard Has Landed

First there is silent, slumbering suburbia. Only a handful of zombie-like creatures on their way to work. Then, upon approaching the port, all hell breaks loose, that 's to say, heavy traffic has to be crossed, thundering and spitting and hissing. In truth, rather calm at 5 AM on a balmy morning (21°C!) in summer. Just seems all the more noisy, so early in the morning. Then, slightly quieter again, crossing the bridge. At last, almost total calm, cycling along the bank of the river towards my secret spot, chasing rabbits, pheasants, magpies.

The river was ebbing when I arrived. The tide turned 3 to 4 hours later, as I prepared to return home. It is strange how the mighty river seems to hesitate at every turning of tides. It flows full of purpose for some hours, and then suddenly it falters, can 't decide to go on or stop flowing. After half an hour or so, it finally makes up its mind, hesitantly.

By about 8 AM the sun had climbed high enough to warm the nape of my neck. A buzzard landed below and almost in front me on the bank, some 5 meters away. I heard its talons scraping the rock. It probably didn't see me, as I was partially hidden by reeds. It looked around, then flew off, low, close to the ground.

 

 

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