14 June 2021 (crows)

neighborhood watch

crows chase a hawk

through our yard

February 24: Hawk in the park

A walk in the park
startles a hawk from its lunch--
feathers everywhere.

April 25: Hawks overhead

Driving to Belfast this morning, noticed several hawks flying above the Route One corridor, including some circling Broad-wings and at least one Sharpie. I apologize to anyone driving behind me while I was trying to get better looks at 50 MPH.

Driving north
following hawks up the coast.
Wish I could keep going.

September 6: Thump

Earlier this evening I was alone in the office, working late, when I was startled out of my computer-screen daze by a loud "thump" on the door. I occasionally hear those heart-breaking small thuds of a bird hitting a window of my office. I've put ultraviolet stickers on the windows most commonly hit, and that's helped, but it seems like during spring and fall migrations one or two still try to fly through glass. But this noise tonight was much louder than anything I'd heard before. That had to have been a big bird, if it even was a bird. My mind (and pulse) raced--what would I see when I went outside? One of the local blue jays I enjoy so much? The kingfisher that's been rattling up and down the river all afternoon? Nothing could have survived that loud a crash.

To my surprise and horror, a sharp-shinned hawk was fluttering on the office patio outside the door. As I instinctively moved toward it--what did I think I was going to do, hold it cupped in my hands till it recovered, like all those warblers and chickadees?--it moved away, flapping onto the lawn. It looked broken. In instant anguish, I imagined having to figure out what to do with a small but seriously injured bird of prey. But as I stepped toward it again, it flew up into the dogwood tree, and from there, almost immediately flew off toward the river. It seemed ok, flying straight and using both wings. My relief was great, though it all happened so fast, my heart is still racing even now.

Hunting hawk, intent,
hit window. My heart lifted
with it when it flew.

April 3: Ice Cream and Frogs

We were in the Freeport area today, so we checked out the hawk watch for a few hours at Bradbury Mountain State Park in Pownal. On the short hike up, brown creepers, juncos, and phoebes sang. From the summit we--along with about ten other birders--watched kestrels zip past overhead, red tails shining in the sun. Sharp-shinned hawks flapped and glided in circles around us. In the distance, red-tailed hawks, an eagle, ospreys, turkey vultures, and a goshawk were picked out one by one by the official observers (and eventually us), each bird recognized by its silhouette and flight pattern. A pileated woodpecker called in the forest below us. Tree swallows darted past, the first I'd seen this year. A golden-crowned kinglet hopped in the branches of a nearby tree, crown flared. It was the kind of birding experience that gets my heart racing, and I had all intentions of writing a poem about it. However, as exciting as it was to see those raptors soaring by on their primeval quest to get north, and to see and/or hear other first-of-year birds, different signs of spring gave me today's "haiku moment."

First cone at Round Top:
two scoops with jimmies. Later,
first peeper chorus!

Friend and fellow poet Carl Little has a great spring poem called "Zones of Peeper," about driving around this time of year with the car window cracked open, passing through literal zones of frog song as you go past each vernal pool or wetland. For a moment, the sound pours over you, your heart thrills to it, and then it's gone. We only passed through one zone this evening, but the first one of the season is always the most exciting. Especially if you do so while finishing off an excellent almond joy and Indian pudding ice cream cone.