I sit and wonder about the bird. Not just any bird. A special bird. More than that,
a special thing. A thing far removed in its rawness and fierceness from the world
of man. This creature, as I watched, soared. It did not care that I marvelled at the
encounter. Did not grant me distant eye-contact or display for my benefit. It moved
across the sky like some harbinger. A thing infused with keenness. Keenness of eye
and talon. A slow-moving raptor intent. Wanting to kill. Programmed to inflict hurt.
A Honey Buzzard, swirling and drifting on the wind. Swooping low over my head,
effortlessly magnificent. A perfect machine of the wing, russet primaries spread, the
eye searching the land, talons ready for the stoop. A dagger holding itself in a perfect
glide, down over the harsh moorland, causing the panicked grouse to squawk and flee
up, their chatter a wake-up call to the senses. And such stillness and quiet. A very rare
and particular silence, of the ear and mind. And a trembling witnessing of something
rare and beautiful. A thing I would never seek to understand.
A place of endless wonder without dragons. The home of the dodgy dialectic. A sanctuary for the frustrated and the terminally curious. Where debate meets damnation and humour lurks to surprise the unwary. From critical acclaim to diatribe. Don't be scared - come along for the ride.