Sparrow Mawk 



A sparrow hawk I have known for years dropped in 

 today to pay a visit to the apple tree community. Killy Boy, 

 I call him, because of his killy, killy call. He's at home 

 here; he and his mate have occupied the same apartment 

 for several seasons. A number of possible homesites in the 

 area were available, but they chose a cavity in a dead limb 

 of the old apple tree, and from it their falcon eyes can 

 spot fat grasshoppers and field mice on the ground below. 



This morning Killy Boy sat for an hour or more on a 

 low branch, as unimpressed by his surroundings as a pilot 

 on a bench in an airport waiting-room. Then, as if he had 

 decided that the earthbound life was not for him, he raised 

 his long, pointed wings and soared around the field, now in 

 his rightful domain. 



I watched him with pride. Killy is a handsome bird with 

 a twenty-two-inch wingspread. Sunlight glinted on his 

 reddish-brown back it is lightly barred with black and 

 on his red-brown tail, tipped with a band of black and 

 white. As he soared I could see the two black curved bars 

 on his slate-blue head. 



The sparrow hawk's constant foraging for mice and 

 grasshoppers helps keep these pests under control. He fre- 

 quently hovers high over a field, suspended and motionless 

 except for his beating wings, looking for his prey with 

 marvelously keen eyes. 



My falcon friend is known scientifically as Falco spar- 

 varius; I envy him his close acquaintance with the sky. 



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