Hovering majestically it dived then rose again settling on a telegraph pole. On the horizon was the Manchester city skyline of towers seven miles away.
My eyes were only for the small falcon resting in between death swoops for tiny prey. It was a kestrel, on a farm lane in Whitefield.
The track has a hedgerow on either side, but a beautiful bird which was common in my childhood, I have never seen emerge from it .
The handsome yellow hammer was once very familiar on country lanes. Half a dozen at a time would flit from bushes as you walked nearby.
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