On jet stilts shank-deep in water and weeds eddying about Fish Rock he posed: pretending drowse, but every white feather alert. His neck eased down, a tired question mark: twisted, swayed in serpentine design, watch from both sides unblinkingly aware.
Eventually the tide washed potluck by: and in one silky practice-perfect lunge, head clean to breast submerged beneath a wave: a contracting phantom.
The sinuous wet-quilled head surfaced again, beak locked on provender of generous sea. Gulp: and once more the
waiting philosopher stance: the vigil resumed for drifting dessert.