Darkness swallows the meadow, extinguishing the hoarfrost that glistens on the grass. It’s cold but I daren’t move, for I’m not the only watcher in the gloaming. In a leafless ash on the edge of the wood, I count nine raptors silhouetted against a pallid pink sunset. Their motionless bulk is unnerving; their mournful mewing shrills through the icy air. How many more are watching, unseen in the trees?
On shadow-fingered wings spanning almost 2 metres, a dozen or more red kites glide above the wood in effortless holding patterns, each awaiting its turn to land. No sooner has one begun the final approach than the next drifts down, all drawn to this isolated spot by a shared desire for company. Most will be first- or second-year birds that have not yet mated, perhaps here to size up potential partners or scavenge in loose groups tomorrow.
