Jim brings up a feather from a wing. He found it way down back when he was mowing. The hawk, I tell him. He’s been hunting the backyard.
Today I see him yet again. Sitting on the lawn–is there something squirming there beneath him? He flies low into the chokecherries. His feet hang down, his talons curled. He looks around him, head held high, indignant, or victorious?
The feeders are almost emptied again; by the squirrel, I guess. I move to scoop seed out and stop. The cardinals, the young family being taught where they can find the 24-hour diner. In the backyard.
A God-like decision to be made. Life and death.
I go back in the house and close the door.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology