We went to Morden Hall Park to make the most of it. The grass has been mown making it look more like the deer park it once was, vistas of green opening up between stately trees. In a shallow part of the river, where our dog plunged joyfully about after sticks, common darter dragonflies hung above the water, shafts of sun illuminating them and turning their red bodies golden. One pair were mating, the male embracing the female as she swooped to deposit single eggs onto the pool's meniscus with her ovipositor, one after another after another: tap, tap, tap.
As we moved on, a pair of kingfishers saw their chance and flew upstream, low over the water: two bolts of blue passing through sun and shade. It made me think, of course, of Hopkins:
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves — goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying What I do is me: for that I came.