Audible glimpses from WWT Slimbridge.

Over a year, I hid microphones in the wetlands. They were slung over reeds and briars, left on soft earth, stuck to trees and walls and wooden panels.

More luck than method.

Every now and then, I pick a glimpse and leave it here.


A house martin nest on the wall; an organised
mud pellets painstakingly daubed
pale brown on the whitewash.

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