Goosander

Of all the birds’ eyes that I know, the goosander has the most expressive.  This one belongs to a ‘brownhead’ (the term given to females and immature birds), and is shining like treacle in the newly materialised sunlight.  Drops of water cling below the splendid scarlet bill that, together with the rich brown hatchet-shaped head, lends something of the dragon to this satisfyingly shapely bird.  The stiff December wind tugs the duck’s chestnut crest into a ragged brush in the brief moments when its head is not submerged.  Then the head is immersed to just above the eyes, snorkelling for trout.  Each time the head emerges it seems brighter, fresher than before, the limpid eye echoed in water droplets that catch the light, then roll down.  The pale grey breast is barred obliquely with transverse brownish stipples.  The dense, low-slung, kayak-shaped body is similarly marked, as though the sculptor is taking a break before whittling off those last flecks of bark on the flanks to reveal the shining heartwood beneath.  Eye, bill, crest and tea-toned peaty water glow still more brightly as a rainbow forms behind.