The Kestrel Takes a Sparrow (46)

The other day I heard a commotion among the house sparrows in the hedge at the far side of my landlord's yard. I looked over the fence, worried Sofia or Sable might be the ones causing the uproar. Instead of glimpsing their telltale gray or black fur poking out beneath the pyracantha, I saw an American kestrel flying away, a house sparrow grasped in his talons. I watched him fly east, flapping his wings and calling out as he went. I could hear the sparrow screaming. I stood in the courtyard, hands on my hips, listening to them long after they disappeared from sight.