When I was depositing some old newspapers in the ubiquitous blue bin yesterday afternoon I came upon a hunched, grey figure standing in what passes for the garden pond. It was a grey heron.
Initially the bird did not notice me and it continued stabbing its dagger like bill into the murky, weed filled water. I assume that it was seeking a frog to assuage its hunger. Nature is a bit tooth and nail. Eventually the heron became aware of my presence. It glared at me, threw itself into the air and flew off with ill grace and with slow, ragged flaps of its wings. Not the most fluent of flyers is Mr Heron.