Giles Watson's poetry and prose
The River Ock: The Mob
FROM GARFORD TO MARCHAM MILL: 5
Across the field stands on old, stag-horned Oak. I can see that there is some sort of commotion among the birds there, and my eyes seem to make out crows and some sort of raptor. I push my camera to its limits, using the digital zoom, primarily to satisfy my curiosity, but it is only when I get the camera home that I realise I have captured (albeit rather foggily) a rather dramatic moment. The crows are mobbing not one, but a pair of red kites. One crow, it seems, is somewhat braver than the others. The kites seem impassive, immovable, like extensions of the bark.
For a cumulative photo-essay, see the 'River Ock' set on my photostream.
The River Ock: The Mob
FROM GARFORD TO MARCHAM MILL: 5
Across the field stands on old, stag-horned Oak. I can see that there is some sort of commotion among the birds there, and my eyes seem to make out crows and some sort of raptor. I push my camera to its limits, using the digital zoom, primarily to satisfy my curiosity, but it is only when I get the camera home that I realise I have captured (albeit rather foggily) a rather dramatic moment. The crows are mobbing not one, but a pair of red kites. One crow, it seems, is somewhat braver than the others. The kites seem impassive, immovable, like extensions of the bark.
For a cumulative photo-essay, see the 'River Ock' set on my photostream.