A Hunters Day

Buzzards are circling, hawks are screaming, in the backyard crows are tearing into a dead pigeon. Songbirds are not singing but watch silently from the hedgerow. This is a day for the predator's, a black cat slinks through the trees looking for a free-range lunch. As a lad I used to shoot small birds with a pellet gun, now I shiver in the noon day sun, hoping that the claws and razor beaks will fade away to a place where children never kill for thrills. A land where pigeons fly unmolested - undigested.