The red tails are back! Walking the dogs this morning, the sky suddenly split with the shriek of my favourite hawk, the red-tailed. Last spring, they nested in my valley and I grew accustomed to their day-long cries until late autumn. Reaching the open meadow, I spotted the pair, circling above the high hill to the north, at times their wing tips almost touching. Their call is so distinctive, deeper and of a sounder pitch than the weaker imitation by the blue jays that have been playing the hawk-mock trick outside my kitchen window for the past week. The hawk’s call cuts to my core, taking me over the hills, viewing the world from such an expansive perspective. Oh, to soar on the hot afternoon thermals, and to view things in the big picture. Later today, I watched a pair of ravens drift in the afternoon breeze over my barn. I called, and they answered. They circled back, looking down. And then I heard the wind of powerful wings. From the open field came the red-tailed, diving down on the raven. They disappeared behind the spruce tops. And then the hawk circled back, and, once again, in full throttle, sliced the air with its speed towards the black birds. Minutes later, I heard the ravens’ distant groaks, and then the pair of hawks once again returned, wheeling and wheeling. For now, they own this space in the sky.