As we walk beside the wide estuary
we follow a wheatear as it waits for us
on the embankment of the rough causeway
then bobs and flits from stone to stone as we near,
enticing us, flashing its white rump,
which is pure white like an egret’s feathers.
We watch the tide beneath the low viaducts
begin to rise. On tracks Stephenson built
the London-Holyhead train crosses,
passes close to Edward’s grey castle walls.
Waders are gathering on the mudflats –
curlews, red shanks, egrets – denizens,
immigrants. This bird, which led us from its nest
among the embankment’s crevices, will
winter in Africa.
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By David Selzer