Still wet from his bath, the collared redstart sits on a low branch. He shakes himself out briefly, as if to laugh off the water.
Then he begins to carefully brush his feathers. With short, precise movements, his beak passes along wings and breast, again and again, as if each feather must lie perfectly before the day can continue.
Suddenly, he spreads his tail. A fan of bright orange flares up in the soft light. For a moment, it seems as if fire flows through his body. He twists his tail, flips it open and closed, each time a brief flash of colour.
The world around him seems to fall silent. The only thing moving is this little bird quietly performing its own ritual. No rush, no crowd-just the moment itself.
When his feathers are smooth and shiny again, he straightens them with one last stroke. Then he looks up, lifts his head, and flies away. What remains behind is the memory of that brief, fiery fan in the morning silence.
My name is Zeno Swijtink.
For as long as I can remember, I have had a passion for nature. I especially enjoy wandering through nature and I like to be guided by my curiosity.
I have been lucky enough to travel through many different countries, often with my camera as..
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