A life in a season; winter of course. Is she interested? She sure looks interesting. Model, muse or a mate? Can’t tell from there so he takes a closer look, a pellet or two and limping flight away.
Catch a glimpse of a gaze? Not likely. He’s hungry, his eyes on the hole, trying to catch his next meal. Too late? Maybe, she’s half out of his composition. He falls again and again.
This time he waits ‘til he can’t hear them laugh, checks for broken bones and heads back to his cabin and a fire of his own making.