strafing the scape

Lake Mary morning, 7 a.m. (ante meridiem)-- Mormon Mountain in the far left distance, peering above the ridge of Ponderosa pine, those standing sentinels maybe a quarter mile away on the other side of this flat marshy bed of the lake decked in its summer garb, yellows, greens, whites, tans, browns, the lake channel meandering like a gentle river 150 or so feet away, herons spaced out fishing, one under attack by a red winged blackbird swooping at its beaky head and elongated neck, a little too close for comfort to the red wing's digs, an osprey circling, hesitating with a backward wing thrust, feet extended, hanging in the air a nanosecond then plummeting, all systems go, nothing held in reserve, splash! into the water and out with a glistening fish, red tail hawk strafing the scape, 2 to 3 feet altitude, then with different plans, zooming upward and off to the far right into the Ponderosa of the far hills, dragonflies on the wing devouring their prey in rapid moves, whole hosts of them feeding at once, wreaking havoc amongst the smaller flying beasties, gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the large multi-trunked cottonwood tree under which I sit -- nature eats nature while spreading a table of great beauty -- we too are being devoured, in slow motion splendor, sometimes with a quick thrust of the ravenous beak