A chattering of starlings as they rise to form a plume of black dots, a lark tweedling its song high above next door's field, a kestrel riding a thermal while following some unsuspecting rodent far below; our family of blue tits, swallows queuing on the electricity cables waiting for their late summer flight paths.
Today, very early in the morning, it was the grey heron that I noticed above all of our other feathery garden occupants, sitting at the top of the silver birch, like part of an old Chinese ink drawing.
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