The Human Factor

Photo by Jo Sinclair

Photo by Jo Sinclair

I lifted a skull from a crumpled, winged skeleton pressed into the soil. The enormous eye sockets and fine dagger beak drew the unmistakable outline of a heron. There was a scattering of empty shotgun cartridges beside it, and pheasant cages and seed-hoppers nearby.

I have added the skull to my 'nature table' bits and pieces. I've found wispy grey plumes of moulted feathers too. There's a heronry not far away from home. A lanky gang of teens gave it away as I walked along the river bank in spring. They had an eye on me as I advanced. Their long legs cycled the air as they flapped indecisevely, returned to stand around for a few minutes more, then disappeared over the old railway line like plastic bags in the wind.

When I lived in London there was a time when I walked home from work through Hyde Park. Herons roosting at the Serpentine pond stood hunched in the foggy winter dark looking like characters in overcoats from a Graham Greene novel. And I once saw a lofty man felled by a low-flying flock of Canada geese.