Worcester Park, Surrey, England
The Silence of the Stork
Deep into the night, feeling concerned, she opened the door onto the garden. It seemed as if she was looking onto a transformed space: the set for an opera just after the raising of the curtain and the music yet to start. But the audience, asleep in their boxes, were unaware of the full moon’s light fanning across the lawn and the Plough wheeling slowly towards its settling.
Thankfully the visitor, the white stork, was still sleeping on the skeletal branches of the sweet chestnut, a hunched form silhouetted against the domed roof of the untroubled sky.
The previous evening there was a swirl of white storks. It was the only one of three that managed to settle for the night on the exposed branches of the chestnut. It was a chance honour that went largely unnoticed by the human residents of the estate.
At dawn he opened the door, in anticipation of wishing a farewell to their guest, but the only occupants of the branches were the familiar family of crows.
in the cot
the coming child