I was sitting on the front steps today, having attacked the boxwood for awhile. (This is not exactly “pruning” and is rather more akin to shaving the head of a French aristocrat before they go to the guillotine. I will be attempting a hugulkutur bed with the branches, but the real goal is to clear enough space that we can get at the bottom of the accursed plants with a chainsaw.) This was hot, exhausting work, and I flopped down on the steps and went “Phew.”
I was peeling off my gloves and looking around for my lemonade, and looked up just in time to see a red-tailed hawk shoot by at my eye-level, about six feet away. He was cruising, too–if I hadn’t caught a flash of rust on the tail, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea what species he was beyond “Holy crap, bird of prey!”
He landed somewhere in the wooded area, I think, but not anywhere I could see. The chickadees and chipping sparrows were out on the feeder immediately in his wake, and seemed unbothered by him. I wonder if he’s the one who was hunting in the yard before…?