For many days in a row, I found bloody feathers beneath a tree. I wondered if the culprit was a hawk, or an owl, or a cat. And then yesterday, as I was coming home from the little market down the street, I saw a small sparrow hawk with the flight precision of a fighter pilot, swoop under the tree. Immediately the tree emptied of other birds with shrill shrieks and frenetic chaos.

Walking over for a closer look, I watched him. It occurred to me that maybe I should be repulsed, or saddened or even frightened. But I was awe-struck. He looked down at me, straight into my eyes and I nodded, the tiniest little head nod, before turning away.