Atop a spent hogweed sits a kestrel. Its plumage catches the first morning light and its eyes scan the surroundings. The bush offers no shade, no shelter, but it does offer an overview: a natural vantage point above the low grass.
The falcon barely moves. Everything in him radiates patience, but also certainty: this is his spot.
Occasionally he lifts his wings a fraction, as if he might take off at any moment. Passers-by might call the bush dead, but for the kestrel it is a throne. From here he rules his territory, silent and alert.
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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