Feathers and mystery

Walking on the prairie the other morning I came upon a mystery. The Sun had begun to slip behind the clouds. I stood and watched a whitetail doe lead two fawns toward a creek bed. My attention was drawn to the feathers at my feet. Frosted feathers lay scattered in the trail, tangled in the bluestem, the remains of an encounter between two residents of this place.
A few feet away lay another clue, another feather. I'm not really sure what bird they were from, an injured hawk, or a prairie chicken or some other unfortunate prey. I'm not sure what predator took these and left no other clue, a maybe a coyote, or bobcat or some other fortunate predator.

The incident happened where the larger trail I was walking on continued west and a smaller trail split off to the north. I followed the trail to the north for a hundred yards and found this clue.

I stopped and listened and watched wondering if there might be a coyote den ahead at some point. A mystery.

I turned back and began the hike towards the warmth of my car hoping that the coffee was at least luke warm. I kept two of the feathers. I could solve this mystery some other morning or then again maybe not.

"The wild things that live on my farm are reluctant to tell me, in so many words, how much of my township is included within their daily or nightly beat. I am curious about this, for it gives me the ratio between the size of their universe and the size of mine, and it conveniently begs the much more important question, who is the more thoroughly acquainted with the world in which he lives?"

Aldo Leopold