|Sketch made in the field|
Eventually, almost under my nose, I spotted it. The fourth bird was digging a nest scrape, chest on the ground and legs whirring away, flinging out sand and pebbles behind it. And every time it did so it called frantically. As its mate approached, it fanned its tail and postured. The female looked unimpressed. With a flurry of piping the male goose-stepped alongside her, more militia than marauder. As his calling reached a crescendo he seemed to convince himself, or maybe her, and fluttered onto her back to mate.
|Screenprint made in the studio, edition of 5.|