Country diary: London park heron

Clissold Park, London Folded in on itself, the grey heron is still, only slightly moving its head to watch the water for an eel or frog

Old Spear-Face crouches in the rushes. The great grey heron has folded itself, all beak and eye, wing and leg, invisibly for such a large bird, into the watery edge of bulrushes in a park busy with people. Perhaps the people pretend not to notice the heron so the heron believes it really is invisible; they may steal a glance at each other from different realities in the same place but their gazes never meet.

Old Spear-Face is still, only slightly moving its head to watch the water for an eel or frog, while the surface reflects the finest autumn afternoon, high clouds and rumours of change in the trees. The bird's eye, with its golden ring, has a determined look, like that of self-conscious cyclists, sellers of socialist papers, wedding photographers, proprietors of food stalls. Its wings cloak its body in plumy tassels of grey, and the scaly stick of its one leg (or so it seems) is jammed into the mud of the New river.