Redwing
IT WAS NOT THE FOX barking, but rather the “klee-klee-klee” call of the slate-blue winged falcon, which always sounded to Agnes like “kill thee, kill thee, kill thee,” that startled the small passerine. She shook as she resettled herself over her sparse nest. That falcon’s constant call, coupled with the regular response of the area’s kestrel population, worried her so much that she had only managed to lay two eggs.
When her chicks hatched, they’d be blind, featherless and helpless until they fledged. That span would take roughly two weeks. In the interim, she and Barney would have to continuously cull insects and berries and then to regurgitate those meals for their young if they were to improve the odds that at least one of those hatchlings would survive. The neighborhood’s aer
