I saw it as we were returning home yesterday morning. A black shadow racing away from the bank in the field below me and flitting through the trees into the woods. That characteristic Accipiter Sparrowhawk flight – one of the most exciting on earth – of heading straight for woodland and then barrel-rolling to pass between the trees at the edge of the field.
He had killed a Maran.
|Once, a chicken|
The bird lay split open, cleanly killed, gutted and shredded by the Sparrowhawk. Not good news for me, but a good meal for the Sparrowhawk, preparing itself for springtime and fertility. He or she will grow strong on a good feed of chicken.
Life, from the angel of death.