In Search of the Elusive, Eternal Otter

The water changes from moment to moment. It is grey, it is ruffled, it is polished pewter or a mirror holding the sky and bouncing light in every direction. I am mesmerized as it furs with the lightest shower of rain, ripples beneath coots or bends under the weight of a swan. Moorhens bicker at the edges of my vision, and mallard mis-choreograph landings, skating over the water in threes and fours. Gadwall flock and feed. Mostly, nothing happens. But nothing is good. I drop into stillness. My mind empties. The rain on the roof is a thousand pattering fingers. A ragged battalion of cormorants perch on the sagging skeleton of a drowned tree. Rain begins to come in through my window, polishing the sill into the surface of an infinity pool. My toes begin to go numb. I zip my coat, tooth by tooth, up to the neck, pour myself some tea and eat a biscuit by melting it on my tongue rather than crunching. Still no sign of otter. The logbook notes one feeding in front of the hide yesterday, and preening its fur on the bank two days before that. I rest my chin on my fist. The water surface is zinc, and brighter than the sky. Between the two, thousands of starlings are stirring. It is nearly time for me to leave. The starlings begin their pouring flight over the reeds. They are a flickering brown stream. Some settle like extra leaves in the scrub, others continue on to some invisible gathering place in the fields. I leave the hide as the sun is beginning to dip and the clouds are tinged with lemon. Color shifts to etch in some ochre, then gradually daubs everything with a watery wash of orange and salmon pink. Emerging from the woods, I catch the smoky display of the starlings. They form and dissolve against the sunset. Their spectral swarm seems to contract, then burst wide open. Watching the news recently, my eye was distracted by the same formations in the background behind the newsreader. Starlings were taking over […]

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