A Kestrel nestles watchfully amongst the clifftop scrub. Maybe for camouflage, or perhaps for respite from the wind. Her choice of landing place varies, so she cannot be guarding a nest.
The waves roll in beneath her. They wash onto the miles of deserted beach, stretching away to the north, as far as the eye can see.
She rises in a blur of movement . Climbs high, spiraling on the invisible updraughts rising up the cliff face . Holds station, to hover above my head . Wind rippling her dappled plumage . Eyes scouring the ground . Beak at the ready . Talons tucked up, to accelerate a stoop . Supreme in her element.
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