There they were. Scattered all over the grass were wilting green leaves from a towering oak tree. They were some of the first to fall this year, having yet to transition into oranges and browns as so many leaves do in autumn.
A merlin preened on a branch of a skeletal tree, contorting its body into all sorts of interesting positions as it tidied and fluffed its feathers with its beak and talons. Far away, in the distant overcast sky, the chatter of two crows sounded. Two black spots flew into view. And they saw the merlin.
A large shape was on top of the otherwise thin and angular branch and looked slightly out of place. But it was not out of place at all. It was an owl.
