The bird feeder was empty and there were no finches nor chickadees trying to get at that one last seed or two nor doves picking up the toss-outs below. I opened the slider, Corning two-cup glass measure in hand, to go scoop and refill. (Metal mini-trash cans are good for keeping the raccoons out–they’ve tried but they have never succeeded.)
The Cooper’s hawk sauntered away, if anything elegantly airborne can be so described, and I went oh oops sorry didn’t see you behind the orange tree there as I went back inside.
No problem. He people-watched awhile, shaking off a bit against the drizzle, preening.
Then he flew half way across my yard to where the sun could be on rather than behind him, showing off every bit of chestnut, white, grays, and those bright yellow feet, well-fluffed above as if there had been no rain.
Here inside, more presents are wrapped and ready, the guest bedrooms are cleared and vacuumed, and the–oh wait, the electric spinning wheel is still in baby-grab range. Right on it.