The dripping of the rain slows. It sounds like a clock running down. Gray light begins to reveal the wet landscape. There is a high-pitched screech, and a small hawk appears above the pines to the west. The bird lands in a tree next door and continues screeching. All the other birds begin to squawk and screech. The soft morning is suddenly filled with alarums and excursions, and a great fluttering of wings as various small birds depart in haste. Only the chuckling acorn woodpeckers are defiant toward the intruder, flying closer to his perch and chattering at him. A few minutes later, the hawk leaves, still screeching. The acorn woodpeckers perch on branches of the tree he vacated and share a laugh. The other birds return. I don't know if a drama has taken place or has been averted.