Splendor and sorrow

Tonight as we were eating supper, we were dazzled by the sudden emergence of a Baltimore oriole out of the brush. It was pursuing a moth and demonstrated some amazing maneuvering. What a sight, we thought, smiling and marveling at the bird’s great beauty and athleticism.

There were two young rabbits grazing in the lawn, and they suddenly bolted into the long grass. Almost simultaneously, a Cooper’s hawk shot like an arrow across the yard in pursuit of something. A moment later it shot back up into a treetop, chased by robins, and carrying something.

It was a juvenile robin. The hawk sat there, squeezing it in its pincers, then flew off. The female robin sat quietly in a tree nearby.

I had no feeling for the bugs I watched a male grosbeak eating on a dead log in the woods today. The moth’s plight didn’t cross my mind as I watched that brilliant oriole. But when the hawk struck, my signals jammed.

There is a grandeur in the hawk’s dive — its fierce eye, its elegant plumage, its single-mindedness, its strength. Yet I’m also angry, grieved for the young bird just learning to ride the air and suddenly snuffed out.