Country diary: For a moment it's just me and a golden plover | Elizabeth-Jane Burnett

Northam Burrows, Devon: This glowing bird is not quite sure what to do with itself, and nor am IFlooded pools and saturated ground have deterred most of the walkers. I think myself alone, crossing the waterlogged stretch between estuary and sea, looking only at the mosses, golden and fluffed up, threaded softly through the sodden grass. My eyes have been fixed low, but something causes them to rise. One small lift of the head and I have landed somewhere else, in another realm entirely, where time forgets to flow and birds are made of gold.I watch the golden plover on the ground before me, basking in the shining plumage. The brilliant sparks, scattered flames roaring in brown relief, seem to enact a special alchemy before my eyes - there is gold being made, here, in this living bird. When I am able to leave the speckled fire of the feathers, I look into its eyes. With its head tilted and slender build, it is not as cocksure as I would expect the owner of living gold to be. It is not quite sure what to do with itself, and nor am I. I could live in this moment for days. Continue reading...