Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Still Death with Feathers

Patty saw it happen. A blur between our parked cars.

Puff. And a Dark-eyed Junco was no more.

She had gone out on the deck to shake out a floor mat, startling the birds feeding there.

Focused on Patty, they didn't see the Coopers Hawk, which choose this time to strike.

Over in an instant. Nothing left but a scattering of feathers on the rocks.

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