New year swoops in, flaring a many-fingered hand of flight feathers, braking in the air for a snatch and drop.
Audubon ought to have seen it, but it's only me and the dog looking on from the corner.
Now he pauses under the low canopy of a bush.When he flaps up into the tree I can see the limp body in his talons. Last year? Or just yesterday? It's so small and still. Takk fyrir það gamla, það litla.
In any case, good morning, good morning, slate back and clear eyes. Gleðilegt ár.