Cycle of life

So, there I was sitting in the living room, minding my own business and working on photos I’d taken earlier in the day of a juncoe on the red pole out the back window, when my husband comes running in the room . . .




He told me that he’d just seen a sharp shinned hawk swoop right down from the sky and take one of the birds that was waiting its turn at the feeder. “It’s still on the tree,” he told me, “and he’s eating the bird.”

So I stopped to get the long lens, the Nikon 70-300mm which is the longest we have, and followed my husband’s pointing finger to the tree where the hawk was perched.




These photos aren’t that good because I was taking them at an angle through glass. But stay with me, ok?




For those of you who are squeamish, I apologize. But this is how things are (and I promise to never post anything gross here).




We watch as the hawk eats his prey, feathers floating in the air. My husband says that he can’t believe we’re witness to this.

We watch the feathers as they float gently down, landing on the snow.

: : :

And then I’ve had enough and go back to the living room where I plan on forgetting what I had just seen.

About 20 minutes go by and my husband walks into the room and announces that the hawk is still there. “It’s like he’s eyeing up his next meal,” he tells me.

Well, I have had enough of this. So I get on my boots and my warm coat, and don my hat and my gloves and despite my husband telling me that the bird will fly, I told him that I wanted it to fly.  I want it to fly far away from our birds here today because I think that he’s had enough.




And I walked right under where he was perched, trying to scare me with his evil red eye.




And I captured this shot of him, looking rather put out because I was standing right under him. But he also looked like he was getting ready to take off.




Which he did.




And everything I took was blurry.

But he landed close by and I continued to follow him, standing under each tree, until he took off completely.




And I waited . . .




. . . until he was far far away.

And then the birds returned to the feeders. Like they were waiting for me to save them.

And then I was the hero of this story.

The end.