[From a writing exercise my husband and I engaged in one afternoon.]
Almost falling off his dead-Siberian elm perch one morning after a thunderstorm-ridden night, Rufous yawned the way only a red-tailed hawk could—with a salivary taste for vole. With a slight push and flap of wing, Rufous soared too quickly downward but immediately gained momentum from his three-year-old wings and was doing his second favorite thing—hunting.
Having keen sight and perceptive powers, he glided over an open meadow, knowing he’d see an early-morning rodent on its own food search. With some luck and silent soaring, he’d beat that rodent to the punch and have himself a tasty breakfast, and maybe even enough to share with his sister who was still sleeping in her tree.
There! A vole slowly ambled across the stubble, and just as Rufous headed down, the furry little fella cruised downward into the cool, dark space of a safe, content den.
Catching an updraft, Rufous circled a hilly area, spying three deer—all does, or perhaps one young buck who’d jostled off his headset—browsing on dried green leftovers, thinking about how simple life could be if he were a vegetarian in moist supple areas.
Whoa! He spotted a totally unexpected breakfast. An early-riser bullsnake must have felt the warm rays preceding a hotter-than-usual day and decided to do her best imitation of a thick stick on the warming sand-and-gravel trail. Rufous dropped like a loose apple from a tree and came this close to grasping that big tootsie roll with his talons, but the clever bull stayed close to her sleeping quarters, realizing how slowly her cool body moved in the morning.
Dang. If his stomach growled from anticipation, Rufous knew any prey could hear it. He saw a large dead cottonwood up ahead and decided to take a break. Isn’t that always when he found his luck—resting and not quite ready to attack?
And just like that, a cute, little baby bunny hopped only 30 feet below him, nibbling on newly sprouted sprigs of grass and leaves of clover. Coyote food, he thought, but what the hell. And down he went. With a brief, blood-curdling shriek, the rabbit was dead, and Rufous was casting fur balls aside, enjoying a nutritious, warm meal.
Finally relaxed and replete, he felt a moment of ease.
If only he knew what lurked behind him.
