This morning, I fed my backyard birds, as I usually do. The cardinals, bluejays, a couple of tufted titmice, some house wrens (at least that’s what I think they are). Came back inside — and went back to work. A while later, must have been about 645, I heard a ruckus and ran to the window.

I saw an unusually lean-looking hawk on the ground, using his legs to sort of knead or paw at something he was sort of half-standing on. I realized he had one of my birds. But I couldn’t tell which one he had snagged. I went to get my binocs and my camera but when I came back he was gone. I went outside and found lots of small tufts of white downy-type fluffy feathers and then three longer real feathers that were black and white. I’m worried he could have gotten one of my Mockingbirds. And, I hate to say this, it’s so mean, but I’d rather it have been a mourning dove.

I’m not sure if the hawk was the same fellow who came here several months ago (see picture).

The past week, my peaceful little Walden has been reminding me of the one unalterable truth of the natural world: it takes no prisoners.