Interplay of rooks above Cillmanister a lovely mystery

Touched by the last rays of the sun, the grey mud of the estuary is dimpled with silver pools. Above them, rooks fly in their thousands, rooks uncountable, on different levels of the air.

They fly no higher than a church steeple. Weaving and turning, dropping and soaring, a bunch of hundreds heads towards the opposite shore while five or 10 metres above them, similar hundreds are making thereturn journey to the trees at this side of the bay.