The hawk settled on the uphill corner post of the grape arbor;

Furthest from the house-closest to the feeders.

A Sharpshin-smaller than the Cooper’s that was here yesterday-tight, erect and watching.

From behind, his head darted left

-came back right

And when I tapped the glass of the second floor window

-around to me

Tiny yellow BB-eyes measured me, saw no threat, and went back to scanning the yard.

Just posturing now-

-the feeders abandoned

-the branches bare

Any chickadees, titmice, cardinals or finches scattered when he winged in.

Or were buried so deep down in the yews that he’d never get them today.

Even the sparrows, grackles and doves-dependable meals-were nowhere to be found.

Mr. Sharpshin hopped from the post-glided to the top of the garage

-one last survey

And cracked hard right

-off into the woods.

The feeders were busy again in ten minutes.

How long till he figured that out?


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