The other day, while a passenger in the car with N on the way to her job, I noticed what I assume was a red-tailed hawk flying to the right of my line of vision.
I don't often notice these birds of prey, but when I do, it thrills me.
I typically see them more in winter when tree foliage doesn't keep them hidden. There is less visual stimulation all around in winter, which other people hate but I like.
The starkness of winter is beautiful in its austere way.
This hawk outpaced the car, and I wasn't sure if it was flying so purposefully to attack or just make it to whatever outpost it had in mind. It landed on a utility pole amongst a large group of small birds. I wondered whether it intended to grab one, but it didn't, at least in the moments before the intersection light changed and we turned. I wondered how the other birds, who sat huddled together, felt to have this strong, regal feathered friend (or foe?) nearby.
Sometimes I see these hawks, or perhaps peregrine falcons, as I'm driving along the interstate roads. Days after seeing this particular bird, I saw another on the ground in the grass. Had he or she just killed an unsuspecting mouse?
Many years ago, when we still had a swingset in the backyard, I saw a predatory bird of some kind eating a smaller bird. Apparently, our neighbors' bird feeder had served as a buffet that day. I watched the hawk or falcon tear sinewy strands apart and watched feathers fly.
It feels like a treat whenever I get one of these unexpected bird of prey sightings, a reminder to me that I live in the wild, a wild that we humans try mercilessly to tame.
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