We were staying on the Upper West Side, 15th floor, view of the Hudson. Two hawks nested on the fire escape outside our bedroom window, their baby hawk’s head popping out of its shell. The male was wary. Very. One day, X ray vision on, he stormed the window from afar, a bolt from the blue looming larger, nearer, yeeks! Shot skywards just shy of crashing into the window.
Our hosts, Dennis and Ginger, warned not to stick our hands out, or else. Every morning, the male brought back fresh kill. We spied on our neighbors: the little eyas, featherless, pink and bony, pieces of its shell sprinkled around the twigs, its mother keeping the nest warm, bending her neck to check us out, fierce dad ever on the lookout. We peeked at their meals, plump mouse belly adorned with fresh pigeon wing.
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