An eagle soared in the sky-blue sky.
I was standing on the platform, waiting in the morning sun for my southbound train. In the sky, a red-tailed hawk made lazy circles, looking for prey. After a moment, a smaller bird joined in, riding a current, scurrying to catch up, diving at the bigger bird. And then they were gone.
There were a dozen or so people waiting with me, but only one other noticed the birds. Everyone else had their heads in the paper, or their noses to their blackberries, missing the beautiful morning, missing the bird dance above us. I tapped the other watcher on the shoulder.
Did you see that? What was going on?
I don’t know. I thought perhaps it was a fledgling, learning to fly.
Hmm, maybe, because the bigger bird didn’t seem at all upset by the smaller bird.
We talked about the birds for a moment, and then the train came.
Later, I mentioned it to W. – he said Oh, it’s a sparrow-hawk. Anyway, it’s too early for fledglings.
Somehow, this landed me smack dab in the middle of the Audubon Society website, where the whole text of Audubon’s Birds of America is reproduced. Oh, the language!
…the little hunter rises in the air, describes a few circles, moves on directly, balances itself steadily by a tremulous motion of its wings, darts towards the earth, but, as if disappointed, cheeks its course, reascends and proceeds. Some unlucky Finch crosses the field beneath it. The Hawk has marked it, and, anxious to secure its prize, sweeps after it; the chase is soon ended, for the poor affrighted and panting bird becomes the prey of the ruthless pursuer, who, unconscious of wrong, carries it off to some elevated branch of a tall tree, plucks it neatly, tears the flesh asunder, and having eaten all that it can pick, allows the skeleton and wings to fall to the ground, where they may apprise the traveller that a murder has been committed.
That is how the sparrow-hawk hunts.
And the poor red-tailed hawk that dares to capture an unlucky chicken? Here is how the farmer enacts revenge:
(The hawk) falls upon and seizes an old fowl, the dying screams of which are heard by the farmer at the plough, who swears vengeance against the robber. He remembers that he has observed the Hawk's nest in the woods, and full of anger at the recollection of the depredations which the plunderer has already committed, and at the anticipation of its many visits during the winter, leaves his work and his horses, strides to his house, and with an axe and a rifle in his hands proceeds towards the tree, where the hopes of the Red-tailed Hawk are snugly nestled among the tall branches. The farmer arrives, eyes the gigantic tree, thinks for a moment of the labour which will be required for felling it, but resolves that he shall not be overreached by a Hawk. He throws aside his hat, rolls up his sleeves, and applies himself to the work. His brawny arms give such an impulse to the axe, that at every stroke large chips are seen to fall off on all sides. The poor mother-bird, well aware of the result, sails sorrowfully over and around. She would fain beg for mercy towards her young. She alights on the edge of the nest, and would urge her offspring to take flight. But the farmer has watched her motions. The axe is left sticking in the core of the tree, his rifle is raised to his shoulder in an instant, and the next moment the whizzing ball has pierced the heart of the Red-tailed Hawk, which falls unheeded to the earth. The farmer renews his work, and now changes sides. A whole hour has been spent in the application of ceaseless blows. He begins to look upwards, to judge which way the giant of the forest will fall, and having ascertained this, he redoubles his blows. The huge oak begins to tremble. Were it permitted to speak, it might ask why it should suffer for the deeds of another; but it is now seen slowly to incline, and soon after with an awful rustling produced by all its broad arms, its branches, twigs and leaves, passing like lightning through the air, the noble tree falls to the earth, and almost causes it to shake. The work of revenge is now accomplished: the farmer seizes the younglings, and carries them home, to be tormented by his children, until death terminates their brief career.
Such violence at nature’s intersection with man. Hawk eats man’s chicken, man takes hawk’s young for his own children to torture, and kills tree in process. Whoa. I need to think that today’s farmer wouldn’t destroy the hawk’s nest and young, but would protect his chickens instead. Then again, the hawk’s habitat likely will instead be destroyed for another swath of McMansions.
See what happens? I've wended my way from minding my business on the train platform, and suddenly the world has come to an end. It's a wonder I manage to get up in the morning.
I really don’t know how this happened. One moment, I’m skimming through the local on-line newspaper, shortly thereafter, I’m thinking about eating weeds.
