As Oystercatcher perches, motionless, on a weathered post, in Levington Creek . Watching the tide rise, with red gimlet eyes.
Black billed Brent Geese cruise the margins of the submerging sedge.
A pair of Shellduck are on patrol too. One by land. One by water.
Speckled, long limbed and lithe, a Redshank stands in the shallows . Staring into the sediment rich waters, in search of a snack.
A stout Greylag Goose wades ashore, after a swim.
Beyond the shelter of the creek, a spirited southerly wind blows. Twenty five to thirty knots. It sends white horses leaping over the sheltering spit, at the entrance.
Out in the river, windsurfers sport . Scything their boards through fully planing carve gybes, in a welter of spray. 'Shredding.'
I shelter in a leafy lane, shared with a songsmith Blackbird. (Bottom right)
It leads me up to Levington Village. . . .
. . . .and on to the Ship Inn. Its, neatly thatched, roof casting shadows on its, freshly painted, walls, in the lunchtime sun.
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