"The literary equivalent of an impressionistic painting—an assemblage of small bits that come together to form an unexpectedly satisfying whole. We see birds in a daily struggle to make a living, each in their own way—some gliding high above open land, some skimming the tops of grasses, others sitting motionless in trees, still others stealing the catch of other species. . . . What makes this natural history so deeply affecting is not just Lockhart’s knowledge of English birds, but his evocative command of the English language. The color of a marsh harrier’s plumage is described ‘like early morning fireplace ash before it is disturbed, the undercoat of grey, the black charcoal splints, the red fibrous imprint of the burnt-out logs.’ The kite, Lockhart notes, ‘is the least linear of raptors, it spends its time unravelling imaginary balls of string in the air.’ Later, watching a uniquely insectivorous predator, he tells us ‘the honey buzzard slips from its lookout branch like a shadow unhooking itself and follows in the wasp’s wake, tracking the wasp back to its nest.’ Throughout this memorable journey, Lockhart’s prose soars and hits its mark like the raptors he so admires.”