The Kingfisher 27th October 2019

The secluded pool I came to this morning was a still life into which I felt as an intruder. With the absence of wind to trouble its surface the pool had taken on the qualities of a mirror and the reflections of the overhanging reeds were held in perfect replica by the still water. 

 

The air was cold and bright, lit by a sun slowly rising into a ceiling of unsullied palest blue. the early morning sunlight casting a gently advancing golden shadow across the fading reeds. Winter is approaching but for today, at least, there lingered a sense of autumn and many leaves, although turned to yellow and rusty orange, are yet to be cast from the surrounding trees.

The stage was set, an open curtain awaiting the entrance of its star performer - the Kingfisher.

Not until he arrived would there be completeness and a sense of fulfilment.

There is no guarantee of a performance from such a capricious star. It is up to the Kingfisher to decide on an entrance, if at all. Some days it can be hours that pass and he does not come, on others he is already there when you enter the hide and will depart but return later for a matinee appearance.

This morning an hour passed in contemplative silence while Moorhens fussed around in the reeds and a bachelor party of Pheasants picked at fallen seed below the feeder hanging from the Alder tree.

A high pitched whistle announced the off stage entrance of the Kingfisher and then he was there before me - a sudden blaze of colour, perched on his favourite post. My desire of his making an appearance  realised, The joyous sight as always a shock of surprise and delight.

As with any star, on stage playing a regal personage, he is clothed in the richest most colourful  of dress - wondrous hues of blue, ever changing in shade and intensity, responding to his constant movement of head and body. An iridescent throw of electric blue flares down his back. Rich chestnut underparts complement his cloak of blue.

Glorious to behold in his bright feathers, supremely confident in his presence, he sits for a moment's contemplation, a king on his throne, satisfying himself that all is as it should be in his realm and that he is comfortable with the situation. Content there is no apparent danger, with a barely perceptible shrug, he settles to fish.

He turns his large head downwards to regard the water below, adjusting his position to look with increased intensity at any movement he discerns below the water's calm surface.

Then comes an unexpected interruption and the spell is broken.

Another Kingfisher arrived, flying in from beyond the reeds and circled the pool in a low fast flight and approaching the post saw it was occupied and fled, back over the reeds. 

The Kingfisher left his post, fishing forgotten in the overwhelming urge to give chase to the intruder and assert his sole occupancy of the pool. His domain.

The performance was over and there was to be no interval between performances, for he never returned in the subsequent two hours I maintained a vigil.

Perversely I prefer it this way, accepting the Kingfisher's capricious behaviour and the uncertainty of success on my part.

Any star should always convey that sense they belong to another world of mystique and glamour.

It makes an encounter, no matter how brief, all the more satisfying.

As any star will tell you, always leave your audience wanting more .........................