Several days ago one of our ravine-walking acquaintances had informed us that he had come across evidence that one of the natural denizens of the ravine had become a victim of what might have been a raptor. None of us has seen any indication that the great barred owls that had inhabited the ravine for several years was around, lately. Nor have the sharp-shinned hawks that return every spring yet made their entrance to seek out prey.

Yesterday dawned sunny and the temperature was mild and inviting. By the time we got out for our daily ravine walk the sun had been eclipsed by a broad cover of pewter-coloured cloud enveloping the entire sky. From time to time we could see clear evidence of the sun trying to burn through without success. It was a beautiful, pre-spring type of day.

Two-thirds through our ravine perambulation, I noticed a wisp of a feather floating gently down to the snowpack of the forest floor. I paused briefly to examine it and called back to my husband that it resembled the downy underfeathers of a bluejay because it was coloured a soft grey. And then another and then another came floating down, ephemeral and dainty. I looked up and saw from a considerable height that more feathers were floating down to the ground.

We both halted and looked about and finally, there in the upper reaches of a deciduous tree we could see a bird, perhaps the size of a robin but with a more elongated tail. And it was busy. Holding something down on the crotch of a bough where it was positioned, its head would go down and appear to drag at something, then come up, and as it did, down came another feather making its slow and lazy way to the snow-covered ground.

We tried to get a better sight-perspective, and from the back it seemed to me that the wings of this bird criss-crossed as it raised and lowered its head to its prey. My husband thought it was most likely to be a sparrow-hawk. We remained there, watching for a while. It was completely oblivious to our presence for we were, of course, very far below where it sat, indulging its appetite. It would likely be a nuthatch or a chickadee, poor unfortunate, that the kestrel had caught, pinned down and was consuming.