Peeping Tom

A murder was committed in my backyard the other day. Perhaps this isn't the best place to make this confession – but I've remained a silent witness too long. It happened right outside my window – over there, under the apple tree. I didn't try to interfere – and when it was all over, I didn't phone the police.

I was writing at my desk when a movement in the garden caught my eye. The scene of two birds struggling in the snow riveted me. A Northern Shrike had forced a female Pine Grosbeak out of the air. The victim fluttered weakly in her tormenter’s talons. Then, mercifully, it was over as the shrike silently ripped the grosbeak's neck feathers. It coolly eyed a flock of Black-capped Chickadees clustered in the safety of nearby shrubbery, calling in alarm and outrage. They seemed like the collective conscience of more civilized birds, harassing the predatory terrorist.