Monday morning when I stepped out of my trailer into the pre-dawn dark, a huge raptor flew past my head, maybe a few feet away, in the direction of the woods behind the door factory next door. This is the season for nocturnal avian hunters, and I’d been having similar such flybys all month long. The nighthawks are out in big numbers this year, often flying lower, and the bats are out, too, sonar-dodging my head sometimes as I shuffle up out of our buried house and onto the path, though their population seems to have been decimated by the big freeze.