No wonder the place attracts migrating birds’ attention and they come in to rest here. Imagine the graceful view watching three lovely, white egrets swimming around in the small bay, ruffling their snow-white feathers and looking forward to next spring when they will be returning to their breeding grounds in Europe, to the country which they belong to.

Now watch the horrendous sight of a civilised man called hunter, he too watching the birds, but with a gun in his hands. From among the trees out he comes stealthily and with a couple of damned shots blasts the life out of the three egrets.

But it is worth the trouble of taking them home and stuffing them, it’s too dangerous; so his hard heart now turns soft and with a smile on his face he picks them up and hides them under the tree which had hidden him from their sight when, minutes before, they were flying gracefully.

With a sigh of relief, he again smiles at the scene of the dead birds covered in blood and putting stones on top of them, he murmurs that his mission is now accomplished, and returns home satisfied to narrate to his brother hunters his bold achievement. Unfortunately this is no imagination, this is in reality what happened a couple of weeks ago.

A foul smell among the trees led another man, who was shooting too, but only armed with a camera to bring home scenes of birds and nature for others to admire. Sadly, what he brought to light was the evidence of a different story with a sad and heartbreaking ending. Removing the ‘tombstones’, he was shocked to come face-to-face with the harsh reality; up came the horrible sight of the three dead, decaying egrets.

All this happened on the day the world was celebrating the feast of St Francis of Assisi, the friend of all that lives and moves on this earth.