Sunrise....moonset. The moon sets in the west as a hawk preens his feathers. This hawk was a substantial bird, and it suprised me when he landed on the top of a very scrawny sapling. A day or so previous to this I watched a hawk soaring over a cornfield. He presented quite a show, hovering, dipping, moving forward and back. At some point he would make a dramatic sweep to the left, perhaps catching the movement of a field mouse in his peripheral vision.
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Over Christmas, we drove south from Portland to Medford, Oregon. Along the way I counted hawks. There's a certain 60 or so mile stretch that is rife with them. This year the total was 33. It seemed like every other fencepost and tree had a resident. I didn't get a chance to count anything in the air or further than about 50 feet from the road, and still I got 33. My last record was 25.
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