I was sitting in a lawn chair, sipping sarsaparilla (that's what we will call
it) last evening. I could hear the grackles in the front yard making a fuss,
but my hens running loose didn't seemed as tuned in as they once were. I could
tell the hawk had taken flight by the sudden loss in noise. It appeared just
feet over my head, hard after a small bird and followed by some grackles. The
chase ended at the back of my place, having traveled over top the hens,
unsuccessfully for the Mr. Cooper. Chickens unconcerned, the hawk swooped up
into the hackberry, then dropped down and back over the hens again to the
spruce tree I was sitting next to. He was a gorgeous adult male with a scowl on
his face and wearing his 6 shooter low on his hip. He eyed me, I have flinched
so far, eyed the hens, hoped up and down inside the tree: this activity was as
impressive as his flight, bouncing with little or no wing support. He would
peer out different places, not sure what was going on in his mind. Finally,
with lightning speed he back to the front yard by way of the other side of the
house, then right back in just seconds, back the hackberry, then the hecklers
began to reassemble and he took off up the street to a wooded house three lots
up.
My wife managed to get me up to going walking just after, as we neared the
wooded lot, I could hear the hawk was still about. He flew out just in front of
us carrying a sizeable bird, but not black enough for a grackle. It was clear
the catch was somewhat of a burden, but he still traveled quickly due south
with the posse in tow.
Scott Marsh
Lexington proper, formally Lexington edge
