Red kite settles in an oak tree above Maesllyn and surveys the teal on the frozen lake below. I scoured the four or so mile length of this raised peat bog and found very little besides the kites and buzzards. Later this evening at least five hen harries quartering the north end including a male. A full moon, blue sky, snow capped hills beyond the flat expanse of russet marsh - reminds me of Asgrimur Jonsson's Iceland. Temperature plummets, paints frozen by the time more harriers pass.