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It was an early fall day, just before
dusk, several years ago when my whole perception of city
wildlife was forever changed: I saw the raw savagery of nature
unfold before my eyes -- right here in the borough of Brooklyn!
Every evening, Lulu (my mini-dachshund) and I take our usual
one-mile walk around the park. This day was particularly cold,
and the park was unusually empty. As I walked toward the
south end and looked above, I saw an unusual, dark but diffuse
cloud forming, accompanied by a rising din of squawks and
chatter. At first I thought it was a swarm of insects. But as
Lulu and I walked faster, I realized I was watching a flock of
hundreds of crows diving and darting helter-skelter in what
seemed like a giant ball of panic. As we got closer, my jaw
dropped. The huge, noisy cloud all at once formed itself into
a large doughnut, with a dozen or so confused stragglers in
the center.
It was then I first saw it. A silver-gray streak in the sky, a
living guided missile flying at warp speed into the heart of
the cloud. The screaming of the crows was deafening, Lulu and
I were frozen in place, transfixed as the great bird chose his
mark! With a sudden spreading of his wings, he (or she?)
thrust his talons forward and snatched his victim with
flawless precision. I watched as the large bird descended,
dropping straight to the ground, with his mortally wounded
prey putting up at best a feeble struggle. With a quick
yanking motion at its throat, the crow was finished.
I was awestruck as I observed the mighty raptor standing
proudly over his kill. My mind was racing. I knew I had to get
closer, and Lulu was cooperating by being extremely quiet, so
I slowly began to approach the large bird. When I was about
ten yards away, I recognized the unmistakable form of a deadly
bird of prey, a peregrine falcon, on the ground -
unbelievable, as it was, he was HERE, right in the middle of
Marine Park! He was motionless for several minutes and then
got to work. But before he began to eat, he cleaned the crow's
breast area by removing the feathers, rather methodically. It
was then that it hit me: YOU HAVE A POLAROID CAMERA IN THE
CAR!
With Lulu in tow, I backed up, slowly at first, until I was
able to turn and run to the car. I put Lulu inside, grabbed
the camera, locked the door, and ran back.
Lying on my belly military style, I started from about eight or nine yards
away, slowly getting closer. I checked out the camera. Only three shots
left and no more film! I decided to take a quick shot in case the falcon
took off. Click. Two shots left. I crawled to within four or five feet. My
heart was pounding.
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He was absolutely magnificent, silver and white,
with piercing yellow eyes. I got off another shot. But I knew these cheap Polaroids yield very small prints, so to
get my last shot I decided to go for broke and crawled closer.
The falcon allowed me to get to within two feet (the camera's
closest focus). At this point, it was as if he and I had an
understanding. He was also checking me out, cocking his head
occasionally. I could have sworn he knew what I was doing and
stopped eating to pose, looking right at me when I took my
last shot.
As I watched him eat I noticed a scattering of white, downy
feathers. I realized I was in his dining room, as it were. We
made eye contact one more time, then I eased away, looking
back in amazement, thrilled by what I had seen.
I spent the rest of that fall and most of the winter searching
for my new friend but I never saw him again. Yet I know we'll
meet again. I hope to have a better camera and more film when
we do.
Robert J. Polito is a life-long Brooklyn resident
(except for a brief defection to Staten Island) who has
been visiting the park regularly for 35 years. email:
gmusic@netzero.net
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