Deze week even met vertraging een ‘ikje‘ uit The New York Times (normaal altijd op maandag). De reden van mijn verlaat zijn? Ben in Miami, was even met iets anders bezig…
Walking through Central Park near East 79th Street, a friend and I came upon a woman in a stylish hat and long fur coat blocking the footpath and staring fiercely at a tree branch 15 feet up. „It’s Pale Male,” she announced, and we looked up to see a great red-tailed hawk in full winter feather, perched and eyeing a spot on the ground near the woman.
„This mouse ate some poison,” she said. „It’s crazy. I saw it running around in circles down the path earlier. I don’t want Pale Male to eat this.”
The mouse at the edge of the path wasn’t running in circles, but it was moving very slowly. A wire fence separated it from Pale Male’s perch and a tree nearby, where another hawk had landed.
„That’s his mate,” the woman cried. Then, flapping her hands, she shouted: „Shoo, shoo, don’t come near this mouse, Pale Male. You’ll be sorry.”
Suddenly Pale Male flapped his wings and swooped to the ground beside the fence. The mouse obligingly crossed through the fence toward the hawk, but the wildlife warden in furs moved in fast, flapping her arms and whooping loudly, scattering the wandering mouse and the hungry bird in different directions.
And so was preserved, for a moment at least, the precarious balance of nature in the park.