Wednesday, January 18, 2006


I was just heading out the door when Harper screamed. It was a loud, throat-rattling number.


Naturally, I stuck around.

"A hawk almost got our birds!"

They are our birds now, apparently. The ones that come to the feeders we set out.

I've always wondered about hawks. There was the merlin that landed on our roof once before. And hawks are circling about daily in the Panhandle below, and Buena Vista above. I didn't see this one swoop down (and miss), but I did spy him flapping about up the hill in the tree-tops in Buena Vista, trailing a ragtag militia of angry crows.

It was too far away to make anything out as to what type. (But truth be told, twenty feet would have been too far. Hawkeye I am not.)

Harper, worried with furrowed brow, says "Oh, I hope the hawks don't get any of our birds, because I really love them now, but I won't anymore if they kill one of our birds."


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