Red Tailed Hawk

The bird was on the ground

Feeding

In the shadow of a

Cherry Birch tree.

Black Birds were flying in squadrons

Circling

From the freshly green 

Early summer branches

Directly bombing

Attacking

The stoic predator

Then back up again.

The hawk was unphased

Focused on his meal

Ripping at the meat.

The continual besiege a minor inconvenience.

My first thought

Was he got an egg

Or a hatchling.

But then I remembered

Raptors are hunters

And like to catch their prey

In their talons

Still alive 

And squirming.

I moved closer

And found 

The bird

Pulling at the flesh

Of a freshly killed squirrel

Belly up and open

Red and white

Innards spilling.

Still...

The Black Birds came

In spirals

Choreographed.

Unrelentless

Hitting the enemy

From all sides

Snapping their wings

Pecking and biting.

A fearless ballet

To preserve order

And family

Protecting their young

Hiding under the wings

Of the mothers 

Trembling in nests.

Perhaps by instinct

The babies were noiseless.

The only constant sound being made

Was from the 

Male Black Birds

Flying in 

Screaming violently

At the top of their lungs

Trying to banish

The figure

Eating in silence

Alone

And not moving

Until he

Was done

With it all.