A red-tailed hawk just swooped across the street into the flock of Bohemian waxwings in the mountain ash tree by my house. They scattered everywhere and one flew into the window.
Emma and I went out to look, and it was lying in the snow gasping. I picked it up so I could move it to a non-snowy spot to recover. It gaped its beak and shivered for a few seconds, then gave a little shudder and died in my hands.
It was so sad and more than a little humbling to be witness to the actual moment, that sudden stillness, when it was no longer a beautiful live creature.