No sign if the kingfisher on my walk today, and I was beginning to worry until I heard the familiar “peep-purrp” sound flashing down the river, chasing the bird itself. You don’t always have to see a kingfisher to know it’s there. The hand-buzzer rasping of a whitethroat entertained me, as it flew from bramble stand to bramble stand, always keeping fifteen or so feet ahead of me as I walked. And then, joyously, it did a skylark-like display flight, floating up perhaps fifty feet into the sky, trilling its heart out. I hope I don’t diminish the whitethroat by saying that it is not a patch on the skylark, that evocative angel of summer days, but it was a creditable effort. I rounded my day off with my first view this year of a four-spotetd chaser dragonfly, absolutely pristine, as if it had been freshly cast in pure gold. A beautiful end to a shorter than usual walk.
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