Hunting in a fog

It was an early summer morning on a Masurian lake in northeastern Poland.

A thick fog hung low over the water like a curtain, obscuring a theatre stage from the audience. Silence. There were no birdsongs, and the water's surface remained undisturbed by even the slightest breeze. The only scent was the damp air, saturated with the scent of reeds and aquatic vegetation. The sun slowly emerged from behind the trees, trying to pierce the lingering fog with its rays.

Suddenly, a dark shape loomed over the water. Movement appeared. A winged hunter approached, illuminated by the golden rays of the sun. The osprey. It circled silently, a dozen or so meters above the water, moving its wings only slightly, and used almost only the tail. It spotted a fish and dropped altitude significantly, making the necessary calculations before the hunt. In an instant, it entered a dive, folded its wings tightly back against its body, and struck the water at high speed, piercing the prey with precision like a harpoon. The entire scene was filled with thousands of water droplets, illuminated by the honeyed light of the sun.

With a swift shake, the bird sent shimmering droplets flying from its head, then unfurled its wings in a powerful stretch. In a burst of motion, it soared above the lake, gripping its wriggling prize tightly in its talons.

Moments later, the osprey melted back into the mist, vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. The lake’s surface settled into perfect stillness, mirroring nothing but the golden sunlight.