“It’s rare that scenes last more than 2 or 3 minutes, so sound helps segue from one scene to another.”
(Stephen Hopkins)

 

While sitting outside here just before midday, hoping to get an interesting photo or two with the new lens, it was uncommonly quiet.  Perhaps too late past morning for both birds and furballs, perhaps the warm temperature and rising humidity creating too languid an atmosphere for even the wilds to be up to their usual activity.  Still, it is monstrous pleasant to sit on the back patio during these warmer months and so I simply sat.  Suddenly, there came a great commotion from behind the trees.  All leafed-out now, the beloved trees in our small City significantly narrow the already small view of the skies above this well-packed neighborhood so I stood alertly, looking up at our backyard’s brief bit of openness.

It wasn’t a minute before a flock of birds came racing at full-speed overhead.  Various species, at least two dozen, with great hue and cry, and obviously on a mission.  As I instantly narrowed my eye’s focus from the flock to the discerning of the individuals in it, their purpose was quickly identified:  a Peregrine falcon had been spotted hunting for the little songbirds who grace the backyard feeders and this small, deadly raptor was now being driven out of Dodge by the not-much-smaller adult blue jays and grackles.

They were gone in the space of five breaths; the Peregrine stretched out fully, at aerodynamic full-throttle with legs extended and held close to its underside, while the jays and grackles flew in messy, yet tormenting formation intended to surround and harrass.

There wasn’t time to snap a shot, had there even been time to lift the big bazooka lens that now graces the face of “Matilda”, the D2Xs.  Yet this time there was no twinge of regret for a missed photo op, simply an overriding sense of gratefulness for having just witnessed something truly remarkable.  For as I noted back in December, the peregrine falcon is a rare sight in these parts so it is reassuring to see that efforts to help it survive continue to succeed.

The blood-thirsty cries of the feathered mob grew faint as the chase quickly disappeared behind the trees surrounding the houses across the street from ours.  Then a few minutes later two, then three of the jays made their way back, screaming out the news of the marauder’s attempted invasion.  They were joined by a few of the grackles, who added to the feathered newsboys’ chorus with their own unique, squeaky imitations.

There would be no real activity for a while after something like this, and so with an unexpected and odd sense of accomplishment, we packed up and went back inside the house.