Then, like a pantomime villain, a heron silently stalked into view from beneath the bridge, its eyes fixed on something above and in front of it - the horizontal post projecting over the millstream that we call the kingfisher trap. What it wanted was on there, obscured from my view by the little cherry tree - a wagtail chick.
|The kingfisher trap is in the middle of the picture, partly obscured by the right-hand tree. Where the heron is looking.|
The adult wagtails were flitting around the kingfisher trap, squeaking in agitation. The heron was coming closer. Suddenly the chick decided that it would be safer back in the nest than where it was. It shot past the heron aiming under the bridge. The heron swivelled and stabbed...
That's nature, I'm afraid.