Tooth and Claw

Today was icy cold, grey and damp as winter hangs onto the advance of spring. Maybe this is the last frost, but who knows.

Behind me, over the valley the Buzzards are wheeling around each other in dizzying circles high in the sky. Their courtship ritual.

In front I watch as a pair of Peregrine falcons mount an attack on the teal flock resting on the lake. They have it down to a tee. The bigger heavier female gains height, powering skywards as the male quarters the shore of the lake. The hen then begins to plummet downwards and, on an invisible cue, her mate skims rapidly across the water inches above the waterfowl, putting them to flight and directly into her dive. The female adjusts her trajectory slightly as she picks out her quarry and then she slams into its neck with outstretched talons killing the duck instantly.

The Buzzards still courted and the Mistle Thrush piped mournfully. I was transfixed.