Long Lunch

A freshly moulted Chiffchaff sparkled in the tangle of bare twigs, calling and twitching in the sunlight. Great tit's chatter, unseen somewhere in the hedge. Looking through the bramble fountain that has been slowly drowning the Elder bush for the last few years, I noticed the movement of a larger bird. Moving to a different window, where the angle afforded a clearer view, the young Sparrowhawk apprehensively stripped a Goldfinch until the unfortunate gilt edged soul was bereft of its essence. Sans wings, sans head, sans tail, sans feathers, sans life.