The eerie

These are the feathers of that mysteriously eaten pigeon, with a fly seeking sustenance in the down.

I can't quite get over that pigeon. Who killed it? Who ate it? Did they finish it after I left? Were they watching me, unseen?

Was the squirrel I heard calling warning me or warning this unseen predator?

Was it a sparrowhawk? That seems the likeliest answer, surely.

When I looked at the half-eaten corpse, the feathers had been torn from the breast and the ribcage pierced, with matter (flesh? organs?) extracted from the right hand side of the chest cavity. Gruesome I know, but I am kind of fixated. There's something eerie about having been so close to this meal and knowing nothing about it. Hearing nothing and seeing nothing.

And the hare! The hare was even closer than I was. Much closer. All of us, and the small birds, the living pigeons roosting noisily above, the squirrels, screaming and silent, the muntjac, all in this tiny patch of land and often oblivious of one another.