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Chowder stood high as the receeding tide raced east. Lapwing, teal and wigeon trod the creeks, curlew and dunlin barely moved here and there. A grey plover crept about in hesitant steps around the water side as a few redshank probed in a hurry nearby.
The calls of bearded tit reached my ears and I turned my focus. Eyes darting I could not locate the sound, they seemed as likely to be just there as over there. Up, down, left or right? I had no idea. Eventually flickers of dark spots arrived in the edge of my vision high to my right and an approaching group of 11 descended in a column to take refuge in sea aster. They landed in the tops, calling incessantly, before all dropping to the base and then silence. Only minutes later the calling began again and they climbed to the seed heads, a chance to watch them. Males and females and then they were up. Moving as one the gang dived down into the misty swathe once more and the pattern repeated, noisey, then silent. Leap frogging the aster bed in yard steps of ten.
They went as far as the aster could support them and then they went up...and up, higher and higher beyond my eyesight. With rain drops patting my forehead and crucified aching arms I dare not lose this group through my binoculars as they melted into the rain laden western sky. Where are they going next? Where did they come from? another bird is pinging in the sea aster below me.
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