Can a grey day fill the senses, ladies and gentlemen? I used to think not. However, on this particular grey day, after completing some chores, I stopped off at my new favourite bird watching spot. I encountered another photographer there — a very nice man. He had all the gear, but was lamenting the light. The birds though, were making the most of it.
As the wind picked up, a pair of black-shouldered kites began hunting. It was truly transcendental, ladies and gentlemen. By the end of that short half hour, the other photographer (a big hello to Richard if he reads this) conceded that it doesn’t get any better than this.
A friend drew my attention to a poem, The Windhover, by Gerard Manley Hopkins — a poem about the wonder of creation, the natural world, and the hovering bird.
Gerard Manley Hopkins
To Christ Our Lord I caught this morning morning's minion, king- dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling 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 sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and 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: shéer plód makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
Here are a few more photos.
And, a song. A feast for the senses. Because it is Friday. Enjoy.