A quiet morning at the reedbed

Little to report and that was fine. Some mornings the point isn't the list, it's just sitting still somewhere cold enough that you notice your own breathing. A water rail squealed once from somewhere I couldn't place — that pig-like shriek that never stops being funny no matter how many times I hear it — and then nothing from it for the rest of the hour.

A kingfisher went past low and fast about twenty minutes in, which always feels like more than its share of colour for one bird moving that quickly. Didn't even try for a photo. Some things are better left as just a blue streak you remember.

Otherwise: two grey wagtails working the muddy edge, a cetti's warbler shouting from somewhere it clearly had no intention of being seen from, and the usual mallards pretending not to notice me. Left before it warmed up, which in hindsight was probably a mistake — the light was just starting to do something interesting when I packed up.