Saturday, 20 May 2017
I'm walking across the open shingle and a Hobby comes into view - low, quick wing-beats, intent on prey. It brushes the top of the Broom and then pirouettes higher before snatching at prey. Dragonfly? Moth? Butterfly? It's hard to tell, but it's been successful as it eats on the wing, feeding itself with brief offerings from talons to beak. A quick break is taken, perched on the skeletal remains of a bush. No real rest though, it fidgets, looking around, weighing up the options, then it's off! Another winged morsel has broken cover, more energy to consume. It takes it with ease, consumption in the air, digestion at rest. I try to hide and hope it comes closer, but of course it knows I'm there. After five minutes the show is over. I lose it heading westwards. My treading of the shingle resumes. Minus a Hobby. The loss keenly felt.