Like a Grey Heron I have a slow flight. My main periods of hunting are around dawn and dusk, but I may also be active at other times of day. I may lie motionless on a soft living room rag, or on my bed, waiting for movement to stir up from the depths of phylogenetic history, to surface to actionable sensation. And when it hits, I swim, I surf, I follow the currents; I move and let me be moved, I feel, I sense, I think; I repeat, I relate, I identify, sort, categorise and file, and after that corner of the great veil has fallen once again I might even scribble down some notes.