When the water is low in the Yellow River, a little island or sandbar splits the current just south of the Rockbridge. Nine mallards, male and female, had blocked the narrow channel and were herding minnows into the shallows. The ducks moved in a line, driving the minnows before them — a roundup without horses, cows or humans.
The ducks were feeding when a small red-tailed hawk, which had been screaming all morning, swooped in and landed in a limb over the river. The hawk, hardly bigger than a duck, looked down. The ducks looked up — and then went on feeding.
I would love to understand that calculation: how the ducks determined they had nothing to fear.
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