February swan sount

The wash bank is crisp as icing sugar under the moonlight. a silver-blue light that hides the swans at first, only to reveal them as the last of the darkness fades.

The islands are not islands, but rafts of waders, and the whole waterscape is covered by a hail of gulls.

As the thousands of gulls take flight in a confused flurry- almost blown into the air by the breeze, the swans wait; still sleeping, or sailing on the dawn. Only when the Sun begins to cast it's light upon the Moon do the swans begin, and even then it is a slow exodus this morning- couples, the odd family, single birds venture out towards the pink glow beyond the pylons.

Finally the Sun appears, and the day begins.