After a Killing

I didn’t see the kill. I only saw the assassin feasting on the remains.

In the mid-afternoon I looked out of my bedroom window and saw a Cooper’s Hawk standing over its victim in the garden beside my patio. The predator was barely moving. Around it were lots of tufts of white fur and I wondered what the bird had killed. The rabbits that live near me are nearly all black and the raccoons only come out at night, so that is a mystery.

As I tried to take photos, the hawk became aware of me and hopped away with the carcass of its kill clutched in the talons of one of its feet.

I am left feeling sorrow for the dead prey, resigned to the brutality of nature, curious about the identity of the victim, and impressed by the grandeur of the killer.

After a killing, all I really have are questions.

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