I guess this is kind of related to the idea of love and death.
Anyway, the starling's shimmer always stuns me - as does the iridescence of the blue tit's wings.
And then, of course, bark - and sunset, too, on this occasion.
But on that same walk, I was also confronted by that which is not beautiful. That which is, instead, frightening, or haunting, shocking, perhaps.
There are many malformed trees at the Reserve - usually sycamores, like this, and beeches. And the cause, I think, is having been eaten by deer or having their bark stripped by deer at an early stage in their development. These trees somehow manage to grow, and yet every aspect of them shows that survival has been a battle. There is no grace, just grit; no art, just graft. They are haunting, somehow, eerie.
And talking of eerie...
How did the pheasant's wings come to be hanging on this twiggy branch? Like a morbid angel. A fateful faerie.
And this is how it is... the world throws forth its terrors and its glory with equal generosity.
I agree about the starling's shimmer.