Although I am behind glass and metal, and I am moving at forty miles an hour, I am struck dumb and deaf for a moment that's lasts for the three beats of a buzzard's wing.
I saw it gripping the frail twigs of a hedge, the flimsy branch bowing under the weight of this creature of dark nights and fallen leaves, scanning the field for prey. It turned at the noise of the moving metal beast that hurtled towards it and for a moment I was close enough for our eyes to lock; it's golden, mine the colour of mud. For the briefest second it saw me. It looked into my eyes. What it saw there, I do not know but it did not make it stay. The bird didn't seem threatened, just disdained my proximity, even for the time that it would take for me to pass. It lurched its body upwards and proudly turned its head away as if I no longer held it's interest. It launched itself languidly into the grey sky, allowing me the merest flash of brown-speckled white of its underwing which it beat three times before drifting out of sight.
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I would really welcome constructive comments or perhaps even some inspiration. To be honest , I would settle for some encouragement.