Eyes on the Sparrow

The silence catches my attention. The chit-chit of the finches has ceased abruptly, the chickadees have interrupted their running commentary on life. The back yard feeders are deserted. On the maple tree, a female downy woodpecker clings motionless to the underside of a branch.

All the birds seem to know danger is near--all except the two male house sparrows squabbling under the post feeder. Intent on their quarrel, they don't see the sharp-shinned hawk until its shadow descends on them. Talons close around one small brown body. I watch with mixed feelings as the hawk rises into the sky with its prey.

But mine are not the only eyes on the sparrow. I hear them before I see them--seven crows, gliding over the pines and maples, fanning out to circle the sharp-shinned. The hawk's confusion is visible as it wheels about, looking for an opening in the black ring. The crows taunt him and swoop at him. Suddenly the hawk goes into a dive, pulls up twenty feet from the ground, then streaks away with the less agile crows in pursuit. And as he flees he releases his captive, a tiny form that tumbles wildly before sprouting wings and racing for cover.

When the crows return from the chase minutes later, the yard is full of birds again. Sparrows--including, no doubt, the one who owes his life to the crows' hatred of hawks--bicker under the post feeder. Finches chat over their meal and the chickadees offer forceful opinions on the state of their little world.