I walked down the slope towards the waves and their heads popped out; sleek dark bodies, everywhere. Big dark eyes, backs curving out of a cresting wave. I was told there’d be seals here, but I never thought they’d be so instant, so obvious. I walked beside the water, waves white and loud, rushing into the shingle then pulling back with a crackle and pop, leaving white score lines behind. I saw something white and pronged, stopped to pick it up; a skeletal sea star, arms snapped. On my palm, it moved, truncated limbs wriggling. Whether it was alive or a trick of the wind or the heat of my palm, I laid it back down.
A man on the cliff in yellow called to climb the dunes; the seals were so numerous ahead they had blocked the beach. I went up to winding pathways through tufts of marram grass and wove my way along. Ahead, what looked like boulders covered the sand; seals, hundreds of them, all hauled out to sleep and sunbathe. From the dunes above I was close, but separated. I sat and watched them for an hour, their awkward, belly sliding movements, their stretching and jaw snapping and low long moans. I watched one surf in, hit the sandy bottom sooner than he’d like, then squelch his way forward in an effortful shuffle. I didn’t want to leave.
Later, I went to Buckenham Carrs, where the roosting rooks have been noted since the doomsday book was written. I sat in the dusk as it deepened, waiting on the nearby train station platform so as not to get close and disturb them. They were calling constantly, a few latecomers flapping in singly to roost in a tall stand of pines. As it got darker, the sounds grew louder; not just rooks, but geese too, honking somewhere in the darkening marsh. Then I saw the rooks, hundreds of them, rise together and swoop and swirl, a black dotted mass against the evening blue. They came toward me, then rose as one over the station lights, perfectly avoiding the motion sensor. Another group came, dancing, flickering through the sky. I sat, one hand cold without the glove I’d lost earlier, and strained to see through the now near black night. A train rushed through the station, flaring the lights on, jolting the seats. After it passed I waited for the lights to dim again. It was too dark to see now, but from time to time, I could still hear wing beats overhead.
Bonnie Radcliffe 