Tag Archives: Cooper’s hawk

Snow has turned all the lower limbs...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 7, 2011 at 10:38 am

Snow has turned all the lower limbs into wide white feathers, but treetops are bare against the blue. From somewhere in between, the hawk.

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An urgent, nasal call: the Cooper&#...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 4, 2011 at 10:17 am

An urgent, nasal call: the Cooper’s hawks are back. The female glides into a tall pine while the male appears and disappears among the oaks.

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A succession of anxious or querulous...

By Dave Bonta | Published September 19, 2010 at 7:10 am

A succession of anxious or querulous calls—nuthatch, crow, Cooper’s hawk, pileated woodpecker—until sunrise reddens the western ridge.

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Commotion from the Cooper’s hawks...

By Dave Bonta | Published June 29, 2010 at 7:53 am

Commotion from the Cooper’s hawks just inside the woods. One darts out and flies across the field: sleek missile body, thin blades of wings.

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Two crows sail out of the woods with...

By Dave Bonta | Published June 22, 2010 at 9:38 am

Two crows sail out of the woods with a smaller bird in hot pursuit: the Cooper’s hawk. He lands in the dead elm and ruffles his feathers.

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A rare alarm call from one of the reclusive...

By Dave Bonta | Published June 11, 2010 at 7:29 am

A rare alarm call from one of the reclusive Cooper’s hawks nesting up in the woods. Sometimes I feel like a trespasser in my own front yard.

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From the moment I come out, the world...

By Dave Bonta | Published May 13, 2010 at 9:12 am

From the moment I come out, the world conspires to wake me up: yesterday, the tulip tree dropped a branch; today, a Cooper’s hawk swoops in.

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The Cooper’s hawk swoops down...

By Dave Bonta | Published April 12, 2010 at 8:36 am

The Cooper’s hawk swoops down from the woods’ edge into the ditch and dips his beak again and again in its cold clear blood.

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Dawn. The Cooper’s hawk is back...

By Dave Bonta | Published March 5, 2010 at 6:58 am

Dawn. The Cooper’s hawk is back, his kak-kak-kak echoing off the icy snow. I scan the trees, a haystack of branches, for that fierce needle.

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Thin fog in the corner of the field...

By Dave Bonta | Published July 9, 2009 at 8:29 am

Thin fog in the corner of the field. A Cooper’s hawk fledgling responds to its parent, a hot cry, a knife cry, a glossy cry, a soul cry.

 

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