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Flight of the falcon | Flight of the falcon |
(3 days later) | |
In The Making of the English Landscape, WG Hoskins quotes WH Hudson as saying that 18 May is the crown of the British summer. For me, the season has to have a hairline fracture of rot running through its real heart, and I’d locate it at least a couple of months later. Perhaps a day like today, when the sky was all December and our thermometer read 25C. | In The Making of the English Landscape, WG Hoskins quotes WH Hudson as saying that 18 May is the crown of the British summer. For me, the season has to have a hairline fracture of rot running through its real heart, and I’d locate it at least a couple of months later. Perhaps a day like today, when the sky was all December and our thermometer read 25C. |
On the horizon, low cloud hung like a deep bog on the canopy and soaked those Buckenham woods, no doubt, in its heavy mothering heat. And the rooks, their wings tattered now with moult, rowed across that sky like black paddles through water. | On the horizon, low cloud hung like a deep bog on the canopy and soaked those Buckenham woods, no doubt, in its heavy mothering heat. And the rooks, their wings tattered now with moult, rowed across that sky like black paddles through water. |
Down the path across the marsh, the grasses swayed high on both sides and the track was a wind-stirred stew of moist air. Now and then I could hear the brittle clatter of dragonfly wings as the insects snapped into flight from rest spots in the cleavers and nettle. | Down the path across the marsh, the grasses swayed high on both sides and the track was a wind-stirred stew of moist air. Now and then I could hear the brittle clatter of dragonfly wings as the insects snapped into flight from rest spots in the cleavers and nettle. |
Whenever I stopped there were notch-horned clegs and deer-flies on my bare arms after a meal. Of all the bloodsuckers the latter, with its huge eyes of dark opal flecked in orange and green, is among the most beautiful. | |
It was in contrast to the brooding stillness of the marsh that the hobbies made their impression. The wings are all angled steel, their movements all liquid. The thing I found most fascinating was the way one could infer how they saw the dragonflies from way across the marsh. Then they would cross the intervening pasture of air in flickering wingbeats, slowing as they came close, and then that sudden upwards surge, wings closing, legs foremost and grappling talons in at the end. | It was in contrast to the brooding stillness of the marsh that the hobbies made their impression. The wings are all angled steel, their movements all liquid. The thing I found most fascinating was the way one could infer how they saw the dragonflies from way across the marsh. Then they would cross the intervening pasture of air in flickering wingbeats, slowing as they came close, and then that sudden upwards surge, wings closing, legs foremost and grappling talons in at the end. |
Bear in mind that their prey is one-gram’s worth of lightning strike on wings the length of a small bird’s: then you start to appreciate the elan of a hunting hobby. | Bear in mind that their prey is one-gram’s worth of lightning strike on wings the length of a small bird’s: then you start to appreciate the elan of a hunting hobby. |
Sweeter still was the way the falcons dropped on slow gliding wings to the trenches of still air between the dyke-side vegetation, where the dragonflies themselves were hunting. And the hobbies would sweep into these narrow fissures of warmth, scooping up prey as they rose back into a lead grey sky. | Sweeter still was the way the falcons dropped on slow gliding wings to the trenches of still air between the dyke-side vegetation, where the dragonflies themselves were hunting. And the hobbies would sweep into these narrow fissures of warmth, scooping up prey as they rose back into a lead grey sky. |
This article was amended on Friday 24 July to reinstate a reference to the deer-fly. |
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