The curlew tolls the knell of parting day

Last week, I saw the first heron fledgling I’ve seen this year, fishing down at the beach. It was already, it seemed, aware of the refraction caused by sunlight on water, or was learning about it, experimenting with the heron trick of holding its head sideways in order to judge the correct angle at which to stab.

It was a learning process, the parents having already tutored it for a few sessions before abandoning the family. They would have felt no further responsibility; it was, from now on, on its own.

It may have been a son or daughter of ‘our’ heron, named Ron by my English daughter-in-law. I couldn’t help but think it should be called Ronson, like the famous cigarette lighter.