As mad as this red tail hawk looks, there is an equally frightened, and grateful, squirrel below it.
It rained buckets yesterday, and it was still misting as we walked. I once heard an old country Tennessean describe a light rain as a dry drizzle, and I’m sure that description fits the weather this morning. It was gray and still, when suddenly the peace was interrupted with a powerful thunk. A bit alarmed, I turned to see the squirrel shooting like a rocket into a hollow log. I couldn’t imagine how it might have made such a loud noise. It wasn’t the squirrel, however, but the hawk, sitting on the ground at the precise point where the squirrel had been. The hawk had a hard time accepting the fact that his breakfast had escaped, but finally flew off. I saw the red feathers in its tail this time. The squirrel will probably be in that log for a good long time. I know I would be!