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Recently, a Cooper's Hawk swooped by,
only inches from our faces, and grabbed
a Mourning Dove a few feet away.
Paul and I, and the Dove's partner, stared
into the eyes of the Hawk, as it victoriously
adjusted claws around its prey before
We sat, in stunned silence, for several minutes
...the Dove left behind, clearly distressed.
After several days' absence, it returned this
morning. Perched on an upper mesquite tree
branch, it called out the lament-like song for
which they're known: "coo-OO-oo-oo-oo".
Nine times, distinctly slower than normal...
clear tonal qualities that bring to mind
pentatonic scales found in Japanese music,
Native American flutes or Scottish bagpipes.
Grief, like music, transcends all language.
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