An unusually springlike day in early February.  The small patch of woods behind the house is bustling with its usual activity.  Squirrels scampering everywhere, rustling the carpet of dead leaves that covers the ground, and jumping from limb to limb among the almost barren trees.  The few dead leaves still hanging in the trees cast dark shadows across the woods.

Then seemingly from nowhere, with wings magnificently spread, a majestic hawk soars into the woods.  Settles on a limb for a couple of minutes, before showing off its awesome wingspan again to move to another branch, then soon returning to the first one.  Sitting still and quiet, and blending into the foliage and shadows, unnoticeable to those who did not witness its entrance.  An hour passes.  Still no movement, other than an occasional turn of the head.  The hawk is unaffected by sounds of nearby traffic, of barking dogs, and even of a couple of nearby gun shots.  Completely still and focused.

But the woods have changed.  The activity has disappeared.  There is no rustling of leaves, apart from that brought by the soft gentle breeze.  No playful squirrels to be seen.  No birds singing or chattering.  All of nature seems to know there is danger in its midst.  A hungry predator awaiting its prey.  Waiting patiently as its instincts have taught it, while the prey likewise follows its instincts to hide.

Time passes.  Is the hawk still there, or am I now watching merely a shadow?  Suddenly to the ground it lunges.  No movement heard, no struggle apparent, but something has fallen prey.  I lose sight of it, and wonder after several minutes if it has moved on, and I have missed it.  It has not.  As suddenly as it had lunged, it arises in all its majesty into the bright blue skies, pausing briefly as if in proud acknowledgement of my awe, and then soaring in a matter of seconds out of sight.