In the first, we hear the dry, crisped breath of late summer willow leaves as a greylag flock emerges from fields to the north. A jet airliner passes. We imagine passengers and crew, oblivious to the birds below; trolley squeaks, cabin announcements. Enclosed and open spaces, thousands of feet apart.
The second is subdued. We are in the main reserve, facing the Visitor Centre in thick fog. It is absolutely wind still. Diving ducks plop and glug, disappearing underwater in search of food. The greylags rise in two flocks — both small — their calls reflecting off concrete and still water against a gentle ambience.