Hawks and eagles have always mesmerized me. Their strength and regal demeanor are fascinating and living here in Montana with mountains and prairies close at hand there is plenty of opportunity to witness the excitement of soaring flight.
Even here in town hawks are plentiful throughout winter. A stand of tall white pine trees tower over my neighborhood. While shoveling snow I noticed two Goshawks perched at the top of one of the tallest pines.
These neighborhood hunters catch the wind and glide through the north side of town at or below treetop level. Sometimes hovering in place they search the ground for food, heads scanning back and forth, ever so alert.
Their flight patterns formed large circles that always ended up on their pine perch. I knew they nested nearby but never noticed exactly where they made their home. It was this 60 foot stand of pines just a block away.
I saw fresh snow blanketing their stoic bodies. With a sudden flutter of feathers they flung the flakes off. Then they readjusted their footing settling in again, always watching for something live and edible.
While continuing my shoveling I looked up every thirty seconds. The two hawks seemed to be watching me as well. A light breeze rose and snow fell from the phone wires above. Silence found in winter weather is potent. It centers sounds in your head like wearing headphones.
Tiny wrens from the surrounding block buzzed around houses feeding on lilac bushes and bird feeders. Several flew just above my head chirping away, chasing each other at high speed rounding the corner of my home.
I noted the hawks were gone and went back to shoveling the few inches of today’s fresh powder. In a flash a single wren flew past my face grabbing my attention, flapping its wings in a panic. The birds’ voice was no longer in song. Now it had a high pitched screech.
It raced across my yard in a straight line away from the bush that held several other wrens. Wings were in chaotic motion. I stood straight wondering what was going on.
Down from the sky, motionless the goshawk drifted. Its’ wings taunt and talons extended it glided in silence gaining on the little wren. They met in my front yard.
The chirping stopped as one talon reached out stabbing the tiny wren from above in split second timing. Clasping tightly there was no struggle as the hawk closed his talons. The hawk tweaked his tail feathers forcing the air beneath to push him up back into the trees.
The little wren must have sacrificed himself for the benefit of the flock hidden in the compact branches of my lilac bush. The only sound I heard was the whoosh of air as the hawk increased speed overtaking the wren twenty feet from me.
It was sudden, swift and silent.
Snow continued to fall. In a minute or two wrens began to sing again. The goshawks were perched high in the pines.
Photographs used in this post are copyrighted by Wayne Scherr, Range of Vision Photography, 2010, All Rights Reserved. Reproduction in any manner is prohibited without the written permission of Wayne Scherr, Range of Vision Photography. My image catalog can be viewed at http://www.rangeofvisionphotos.com. You can contact me through this blog or through email at: wayne@rangeofvisionphotos.com



































































