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By Rufus D

On whirring wheels and with a suppressed sigh, Bob the bus driver is on his three hundred and ninety fourth journey transporting Newport City Council workers to their offices. He repeats the journey every morning, returning every evening, a robin returning to its nest.

Waiting at the traffic lights, he peers in his rear-view mirror. There must be fifty council workers on board. Those at the front of the bus are discussing the recent proposal to create a motorway flyover through the local nature reserve. Bob shrivels down into his seat - he loves the nature reserve, and is horrified.

A golden flash in the mirror blinds Bob for a moment. He notices it again and is able to see a tall man wearing mayoral chains: it's Monty the Mayor (head of Newport City Council).

"I am minded to grant the application!" he says flippantly to his colleagues.

Bob feels the blood in his body boil. The lights change, but instead of turning right, like he has every working day of his life, he speeds up and swerves left towards the nature reserve. As he crashes through the entrance barrier, the workers scream. It occurs to Bob that he is kidnapping them, but he is so incensed he accelerates even faster.

"Where are you going, you crazy imbecile?" the Mayor shouts.

Moorhens and mallards fly into the air, wings beating as fast as hummingbirds. The tide is out and a flock of a thousand curlew fly past the windows. An avocet's scintillating cry drifts hauntingly downwind. The inside of the bus is as quiet as a still summer's day.

Carefully, Bob drives into the small, wooded area. A flock of goldfinches is sitting at the top of an ancient oak, their red faces and yellow wings fluffed in the wind. Bob's muscles relax as he listens to their sweet song. The occupants of the bus are dazzled as a spectacle of colour bursts blindingly around the brown bus; the goldfinches have taken flight, but their magic lingers behind in the minds of the suited workers.

Slowly, Bob follows the goldfinches back towards the estuary. The mudflats are popping gently. A majestic marsh harrier, hunting above the nearby reeds, divides the goldfinches. The harrier is gliding like a buzzard: a circular motion. The tips of its wings are jagged and its fan-tail is spread wide. Suddenly it swoops, its bright yellow talons forward. Its needle-like beak rips a plump, brown water vole apart, before scooping it up, carrying it high into the air and disappearing into the horizon, its silhouette getting smaller and smaller.

There is a stillness in the bus that is electric. Bob opens the doors and the workers stumble out into the reserve, dazed and enchanted. As the mayor passes Bob, he lays a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you," he mutters under his breath, "I almost made a big mistake."

Bob had never before fallen to crime, but decides he has taken rather a liking to it...