Something to Ponder

Author's Note: Something a little different today that got me thinking.
Whilst hitching a ride to the coffee shop with my wife, we turned into the shopping park where it's located and saw something highly unusual. I always keep an eye out for wildlife, I love nature, and spotted a bird I'd never before seen in real life, yet recognised instantly. The fellow in question was a beautiful Little Egret.
I said what I'd seen and we slowed down to view it. I'll come back to why I couldn't take a photo of my own in a minute. In the meantime, here is an image courtesy of Wikipedia.

These birds are becoming more common in England, but rarely as far north as Yorkshire.
Now here's the thing. We didn't want to scare it away, so went for our drink. My wife left first, and me later for my run. But I had to see the Little Egret again. So, I jogged back to where I'd spotted it, phone in hand, but the little bird had gone. I was disappointed.
So where did I see this rare beauty you shout? A drainage ditch my reply. And although I didn't think much about it at the time, on reflection I think it's ironic that one of the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen, gleaming in the dawn light in all its snow-white splendour, was in a shopping park drainage system. It just doesn't seem right, or maybe that's just me.

Thanks for reading
Richard

50 Word Stories: It’s all Black and White

“It’s a blackbird.”

“It’s a seagull.”

“I know why you’d say that, but you’re wrong. It’s an albino blackbird.”

“It’s a seagull.”

“No, it’s a blackbird without pigment.”

“It’s a seagull.”

“I assure you, as a practising ornithologist, that’s a blackbird.”

“Then why’s it eating a fish?”

“Must be hungry.”

In White

galleon-674965_1920

They came as an armada of white bobbing atop the windswept waters. Even without a sun to cast bright rays upon them, they gleamed with a magnificence our best could not match. Prows raised, proud before our feeble defenders, they cut the waves in two without even trying. There was no doubt who’d won this day, and with it the battle, for it was over before ever having begun. Galleons of white-sided brilliance, the swans took the duck pond. It was a short war fought not in crimson, but in white.

# 50 Word Stories: The Robin

50 Word Stories: The Robin

For seven years, the Robin sang every morning at six o'clock. Regardless of season, weather, light or dark, the same little bird trilled me a special wake-up call. I expect that's why it hurt when he left. The mornings lost their exuberance. I couldn't bear to say he'd died.

50 Word Stories: The Eyrie

We lived overlooking a valley of patchwork greens and threads of interlacing brown. Occasionally, creatures moved along these threads like ants over an anthill or fish through a muddied stream. I watched them as they often watched me. The bang one made confused, until I fell, my jigsaw view broken.