There is a hawk terrorizing the timid little finches that feed in my front yard . . .picking them off like fish in a barrel. I am so upset.
I suppose it was inevitable. . .anyplace the little ones gather. . .runs his odds up. But he's such a horror! And he sits in the tree and cheeps like an Easter chickie while I scold. Big Chicken! Pick on someone your own size!
I've heard hawks described as majestic. . .the way they soar, with that wide wingspan. . .but up close like this, he's just rumpled and sorry looking. Just a big old bully, too lazy to hunt for his dinner like a proud bird. . . so he picks off the tiny birds as they flock to my bird feeder, where they have come to trust that dinner will be served. I'm not chumming for the hawks for crying out loud!
I suppose it is he who is responsible for the little tuft of downie feathers scooting ahead of me on the sidewalk in the breeze.
I am a Wife, Mother, Grandmother, Daughter and Granddaughter. These are the people for whom I am notating provenance. I am married to the husband of my youth. I love truth, beauty, honesty, nature and goodness, and abhor the opposites. I diligently protect myself from invasions into my psyche. I am a Christian, dyed in the wool.