They were displaying all day: soaring on the updrafts above the fields across the valley. But now comes something quite different.
Against the rising half-moon hanging silver in a wide open, innocent sky, undersides aflamed by amber shards of setting sun, three buzzards are wheeling: carving lazy, majestic arcs which skim the treetops and the ridges and the gables on the roof.
So close. If I stretched out my arm, surely I would feel the whisper of those shining wings?
You must first realize the thing completely in your mind. Then grasp the brush, fix your attention so that you see clearly what you wish to paint; start quickly, move the brush, follow straight what you see before you, as the buzzard swoops down when the hare jumps out. If you hesitate one moment, it is gone.
Drawings from RSPB