The birds flew in just after dawn.
They skimmed the treetops,
left ripples on the surface of the lake.
The first, and last, their prey knew of them
was a mighty, stomach clenching, roar
as they flashed past;
leaving dust and devastation in their wake.
Up on the hill top
he tucked the laser away,
confirmed the kill,
then crawled over the brow,
stood and broke into a stooped run.
Job done,
bug out.
John Buchanan