Carnage

Sparrow hawks are uncommon visitors to our  garden  - or at least if they do visit, we seldom see them. We know they are about of course, and worry for the little birds that perch high up on branches and seem so vulnerable. G has even tried to place perches and feeders in sheltered spots where hawk eyes are less likely to see them, but inevitably, despite our efforts, there comes a time when the predator will be successful. 

G spots the sparrow hawk swooping in and sees an instant scattering of sparrows. But clearly one - not necessarily a sparrow - has been too slow, for the female sparrow hawk has landed on the lawn, prey caught and held by talons. 

I miss all this, and when he calls me, suspect that she’ll be gone. But no, she seems happy to stay, relaxed and unthreatened on the wet grass. I grab my camera, and we watch the scene unfold from the open bedroom window. 

Maybe it’s just me, but I feel there’s something fascinating in watching a predator dealing with its prey. However much you want the prey to escape, once the deed is done it’s hard to look away. And so we watch, mesmerised. First she plucks the feathers clear, messily scattering them around the crime scene. Then the real business of getting at the flesh ensues - bloody and primeval  -  until even the tiny avian bones seem to be digested.  All that’s left is for her to use the grass to meticulously wipe her beak of gore, and she is gone, leaving nothing but a few downy feathers to indicate that she was ever here. 

I’ve tried to use a fairly inoffensive shot for my main, the extra collage more clearly documenting the carnage. You have been warned …