The weather was bleak on the marsh today: very windy, overcast and drizzling. The heron in the first image was holding tightly onto a long springy tree trunk that was being blown in all directions – it was comical to watch. I counted twelve nests amongst the swaying trees, with their heron occupants hunkered down protecting their chicks.
The dead heron was where I had left it yesterday: straddling the north marsh fox’s riverside track. The fox had circled the carcass, probably sniffing it, and must have decided it was not for him.