Fen Drayton on a mild January afternoon. Short-eared owls had been seen the previous evening quartering one of the marshes, and three bitterns had been jostling for position on Holywell lake.


I wasn't quite so lucky: but I had a stunning sighting of a male hen harrier hunting, flurrying a group of gulls on a spit of land in Ferry Lagoon, descending on its kill then disappearing from view, hovering up again and dropping down.

Distant as it was, I could see what a fabulous bird the hen harrier is: whitish underneath with a pale grey hawk-head and black wing-tips, wide-winged, as graceful as it is ferocious.

Lapwings gusted and swirled overhead, a short-eared owl flew in, and for a while I didn't know where to look, so much was happening.

Later, there were chevrons of geese flying, corvids gathering to roost, and scattered over the various lakes gadwall, tufted duck, grebes, goldeneye, wigeon, swan – and mallard drakes with brilliant emerald heads, in prime winter plumage. And, ubiquitously, coots: Fen Drayton attracts the largest population of coots anywhere in the UK, apparently.

I missed the bitterns. though: I stood and watched for three-quarters of an hour, with no luck. They probably emerged as soon as I'd gone: that's birdwatching.


Great peace is found in little busyness
Chaucer

winter woods

the beauty of a winter tree in silhouette – the lungs of the planet naked to the sky

leaf-litter on the woodland floor – and underwater on a stream bed – beautiful mulch – food and shelter for tiny creatures and microscopic activity

and the path home – to a pot of white hyacinths by the windowsill in front of my desk

The great German painter Gerhard Richter compels us to question the act of looking – he balances longing for something behind what is represented, with an insistence that we can never know what is there.