From the overhanging branches of the Willow, the gently caressing leaves creates swirls and eddies on the surface of the water. It is here, like a sentinel, the heron waits. Patiently mimicking a statue, where the river runs slowly and the shade provides respite from the glare of the mid summer sun.

But at the  bottom of the meadow,  along the edge of the water, a bejewelled king fishes the tumbling waters. A flash of larimar blue and amber chest, with sparkling diamond  water drops cascade from his wings, gleaming in the sunlit rays, as he rises from the water.

  And where, as waves of water gently lap onto a beach of mud,  the Water Voles stop to feast on stems of water rushes and fescue grass.