23 Dec 14
The hawk, a feathered drone, swooped in a banked arc from behind the evergreen, a low swift glide dark against the side lawn, to once again drive a bird into the trees’ reflection. The small flock of winter songbirds rose in unison from under the feeder, their feathers a whump- whump-whump panic note. A hollow dull thud reverberated against the glass. The casualties grow in number, four ghost imprints framed on the window.
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