Roundup

 Two hawks — young redtails — lit on the woodlot fence. They watched for a minute and then swooped down on the forest floor, which until recently had been covered in English ivy.

As I watched from an upstairs window, another hawk appeared from behind a tree, hopping along the ground. Then another appeared.

A swale runs through the woodlot, and something was in the swale. The four raptors were like cowboys that had cornered a stray.

Hawks, so graceful in the air, are awkward on the ground. The chase went behind big trees into a place I couldn’t see. I waited, but the hawks were gone.

I went to look, hoping to find the remains of a fresh kill. The Wise Woman, who had watched part of the drama with me from an upstairs window, hypothesized that the hawks had found a snake. She made me put on my boots.

I searched the woodlot but didn’t find a clue. 

What were the hawks after — a snake, a squirrel, a cat? Did it escape? Or was it carried off like lunch from the drive-through?

This happens often if you are interested in the natural world: You seek but don’t always find. You are left with a mystery.