All of a sudden a flash of orange slid between us and and the bicycle path and a loud ka-ka-ka-ka filled the air. We all turned in horror to watch an American Kestrel, which is a small brightly colored hawk, grab one of the sparrows in its talons and fly victoriously away -its hapless prey dangling like a rag doll upside down. An audible gasp was heard from the birders, a gasp that filled this gray, damp day with sorrow and sadness. In the short time I watched these three little sparrows I was amazed at their perseverance, their fortitude and dignity at having traveled so far to end up in a concrete jungle, which could have been their paradise. It gave pause to the moment and perhaps I identified too much with these three little birds, but I thought what a metaphor for life. I looked about at this pocket park on the west side with its lush green lawns, beautiful trees and the untamable Hudson River and I sighed. I decided to pack it in and go home, trudging up the avenues searching for a bus stop, a little sadder than when I arrived, leaving the wild and unpredictable west side behind me.