I wandered slowly along Prisk a few days ago looking for shells and things. Found 21 cowries, a few bird bones, crab moults and a lovely plant skeleton. I think it is a reed mace flower dried and hollowed out.
But the most amazing thing I found was a whimbrel.
One of my favourite migrants their calls always fill me with joy. Like the first swallows they tell us summer is believable and winter is at last a dream. I think in the north they are known as 'the seven note whistler' because of their call.
It was sad and strange to find one fairly recently dead, lying above the high tide line. But I feel so lucky to be given such a beautiful and rare thing. I brought her home to draw.
I will put the drawings on my Face book page as I do them.