Shooting Crows

The agony did not diminish.

Man could not be man nor God God.

The agony

Grew.

Crow

Grinned

Crying: "This is my Creation,"

Flying the black flag of himself.

from 'Crow Blacker Than Ever' by Ted Hughes

Still changable weather, cool and cloudy with bursts of sun, lovely contrasty light. On my way back from visiting mum pulled into Booterstown DART station. I noticed someone standing at the low wall near the station, taking a photo of the resident heron with a snappy little digital camera. The heron is nearly always to be found on the same tangle of dead-looking shrubby branches sticking out of the shallow marshy river that runs alongside the track.

I couldn't get much of a picture, despite the nifty zoom on my new Canon 5D (I'm really beginning to enjoy this camera). I tried to get closer, but the poor bird flew off. Much shyer than the crows I came across later, as I wandered up and down the old metal railway bridge. I realised there were a few of these birds hanging out here, perching on the bridge, swooping and diving (at what I wasn't sure). I followed one of them with my lens and got the above picture.