Isley Marsh, Devon: The birdlife is mostly staying still in the downpour, not least these large, striking waders that we’re lucky to have here
Rain washes across the saltmarsh, numbing my lips and fingers. The deluge is unavoidable, as it has been all year. It’s been one of the wettest winters on record and harder to get around. Glimpsing a huddle of white feathers, I try to silence my squelching, not wanting to disturb the sheltering bird. Its wings flare, as though preparing for flight, but the little egret remains in place. It considers the pool at its feet, buffered from the rain by the reeds.
Behind it, the silver River Taw winds into the estuary. Standing on the track, I catch the shimmering white breasts of lapwings at the water’s edge, fluttering like the tail of a kite before takeoff. They ripple but do not fully rise. The only real movement is from the water. Rain sheets in from the side; the river surges with the tide while the rest of us stand, crouch or falter in the murk, unable to muster the same momentum.
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