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16 S H A R P - S H I N N E D H AW K An explosion of cardinals, juncos, and black-capped chickadees out of the nimbus of the sugar maple’s crown leaves the branches, in one electric instant, clattering. The sharp-shinned hawk zeros in to settle on its target perch; its talons curl to grip the bark. It rides up and down: the dark flight feathers and the under-white of its tail suggest an arrow quivering in its mark. Still, the disappointment of the hunt reveals itself in the unnerving, slight twitches of tail feathers, the slow rotation of its head from side to side. Then it stretches out of its fierce, hunched posture, flies up, veering out of the maple, off on a sharp angle toward the back pasture. Just when it begins to rise in the wind, it disappears on the deception of exquisite bones. ...

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