"I will not be clapped in a hood,
Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist,
Now I have learnt to be proud
Hovering over the wood
In the broken mist
Or tumbling cloud.”
WB Yeats: The Hawk
Across the lane Saturday morning, a cacophony of smaller bird chatter announced the presence of The Hawk, acting vague, and pretending to be interested in nothing more than a spot to rest.
Robins, jays, crows, even a hummer dive bombed him to make clear their xenophobia, at least toward raptors.