WILD LIFE ON THE WING 
granite held the pools of amber water as goblets 
hold wine, and the night was loud with voices, 
for these were the flighting times of the Feather 
Folk. 
In the pool where Creaman wetted his bill, a 
brace of teal splashed the water over the brim, 
and dabbled 
in the mud. 
Elsewhere, 
Crutac the 
Curlew, 
with the salt 
from the 
sea-flats still 
crusted on 
his knees, 
fed beside a tired jack-snipe newly come from 
Scotland. Even when the greater part of the 
crowd had settled to their feeding, there was a 
subdued clamour and bustle all night the 
discoursing of low voices, and soft squelch of 
feet in the mud as birds dropped in for an 
hour or two to drink and bathe before starting 
on their journey west again. 
There was a tussock of yellow bog grass at the 
edge of the pool, where a bird might perch 
clear of the mud ; but though there were 
plover and snipe all round it, none of them 
perched upon the tuft, but hovered above it 
86 
