From a Distance


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 From my kitchen window I kept seeing a bird of prey over the road in the graveyard. It would jump down off the top of a grave stone then hop back up again. I thought it was probably a Kestrel (although I was hoping for something more exotic!), but they usually perch much higher on a wire or a telegraph pole before swooping down from a great height. Or they hover.

I’ve been trying to get a photo for weeks but it was too far from indoors……………

 and too wet for outside. Eventually a sunny day and I opened the front door very carefully and crept down the front path.

And At Last two decent photos and yes it is a Kestrel. I’m pleased with the photos because Kestrels are usually up on a wire making them difficult to photograph.

(And what a lovely sentiment on the gravestone)

Below is the illustration of  Kestrel from my book  “A Sparrow’s Life as Sweet as Ours” by Carrie Akroyd. It’s in the Autumn section of the book but Kestrels are around all year and very common. Seen more often now than even 20 years ago when we would get quite excited to see one hovering. In some parts of the country they are  known as “windhovers”. Now they can be spotted on almost any walk or drive.  In the book it says their skill at hovering was tested and it was found they could hold their position within a centimetre for 28 seconds. They spot their prey – mainly mice and voles – because of being able to see the wavelength of ultraviolet and trace their urine trails.

There’s a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins about the Kestrel – but I need a translator!

The Windhover

I caught this morning’s minion, kingdom of daylights dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon,
in his riding
Of the level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel he sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and the gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, – the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh air, pride, plume here
Buckle! And the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue beak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.


Back Tomorrow
Sue



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