Nobody wants their names associated with buzzards, but my old teacher, James Dickey, taught me they were a terribly misunderstood lot. And so they are. We see the hawk feeding far too often, lately, and along with a feral cat who lives here we feel like we simply have to keep our minds from straying in that direction. The cat does not belong out there but is there anyway and will do what cats do. The hawk is doing what nature compels. That's something simply to be accepted, I guess, no matter how distasteful it seems. The balance of life, although I detest that "circle of life" phrase, myself. No circle for the dead songbird. And no circle for the hawk when some moron runs him down in the street trying to catch that bird, either. Jeffers said it best: something we cannot understand because we are human, and it isn't meant to be understood, only lived.

Possessor of Paul Newman eyes. Author of many things straightforward and strange. Some of them appear here. “Women zai shuo ba” as the Mandarin say. Born 2016.

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