"Tempting, so tempting!" All that bounty, spread out, just waiting to be scooped up, picked over, the best morsels taken, spirited away. "At a risk, there was always a risk". Small shufflings accompany that thought, little movements, not of impatience because impatient got you dead, just little rearrangements of body, comfort making movements, to ease the ache of waiting. And watching, always... the watching. Feathers scud across the planking soundlessly. Wind whispers keeping company with the plink sounds of red drops as they hit the ground below. One learned to keep a good ear attuned, but couldn't always count on sound. That same wind blew through trees, whistling and fluttering leaves on the branches or in this time of year, across the ground. The bounty was at the generosity of the red-haired one, she daily put out offerings, clumping, clumsily large footed across the span of wood space, filling assorted containers with thistle seed, cracked corn, sunflower seeds, millet. There was a small wire holder for seed pressed into fat, a high prize when one could get it. It kept the cold at bay a bit more than just the seed. And generous she was, once the containers were full, and nuts put out for the bushy tailed ones, she scattered more seed across the wood rail, it made it easy to get at, except then, one was so exposed. An airborne feather floated past, testifying to the exposure problem. That one hadn't been careful enough, nor fast enough. Plump breasted as she was, she became a tasty catch for the whiskered, amber-eyed grey one, who at this moment was preening paws where blood had splattered upon them. If he followed his usual habits, he would mouth his catch and amble away with it to a more secure spot under the bush far over there. Then it would be safe, for a while. It would be the best time to venture out past the close branches of this fragrant green pine. Out onto that flat wood, by the red-haired one's large nest, because then whiskers would be busy with his catch. Waiting, waiting, "Now!" Taking off, landing on the rail, quickly perusing the scattering of seeds on the wood, snagging one up, the sense of elation suddenly turns to stark, freezing fear, as the shadow of large predator wings silently glide along the planks. "Tempting, so tempting!" thinks the red-tailed feathered one, as his sharp talons grasp the tiny, feathered body. YZ 02-25-06