Chatterbox: Inkwell

This is a short story I'm working on! (I didn't know where to post this, so I guess I am posting this as a thread) I would like some feedback (and honest opinions!) if that's okay. There might be a lot of spelling mistakes...

It was early morning in the bustling city, pigeons were searching for food on the streets, finding a discarded French fry from time to time. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees at a park, the sound of cars filed the ears of all who where near. The tall skyscrapers reach for the sky, but the clouds didn't reach back.

Back in the park, there was a oak, and on it, standing tall and proud, was a certain bird; it was hooded, steel-blue on its back, a white breast with black dots and barres, long thin feet with sharp claws. A peregrine falcon. It cocked it head, looking with its sharp eyesight to spot what it needed right now. It saw a flock of pigeons (its favorite food) and jumped off the branch, aiming for the sky high above. Once it circled over the trees it climbed higher. Up and up it went, nobody saw because nobody cared, up, up it went, now it looked like a speck in the vast blue, up, up it went, where no one could see it. The pigeons couldn't see it, but it could see them. As it circled, the pigeons took off, looking for food along the busy streets.

Now this was a special time for the falcon. 

The falcons like to attack airborne, this was a window of time it could not miss, the seconds were ticking by, but don't worry the falcon was already prepared. It had spotted its target, the slow pigeon behind the rest. 

And then it dropped.

It dropped out of the sky like a rock, no, too graceful and delicate to be a rock. It wasn't falling, because it was in control, this was on purpose. It's wings were not even tucked in all the way, it was being cautious. 20 miles per hour. It slowly eased into its dive. 40 miles per hour. It wings tucked in fully. 60 miles per hour. It was just a tear drop shape as it dived. 80 miles per hour. It relaxed a little, letting the wind take it. 100 miles per hour. It relaxed more. 140 miles per hour. It eased into the hands of the wind, letting go of control. 180 miles per hour. It was one with the wind. 240 miles per hour. Now, a little bit more and it would die, it was at its limit. The pigeons were coming fast. Now its wings spread a little, slowing down. Now closer to its prey, it flys forward.

With all its speed built up, it seized the pigeon, instantly knocking it out. The falcon lands on a branch. To make sure it's dead, the peregrine bites into the neck of the pigeon, digging for its spine. With its tomial tooth, a very sharp ridge on its beak, it snaps the pigeon's neck. As soon as it does this, it starts plucking the feathers off. Once it's done, it takes off the tree with the pigeon in its talons.

It flys above the buildings, until it spots a sandly colored apartment building. It circles that, deciding were to land. Finally it lands on a nest, with another falcon watching chicks. This falcon, the mother, see the other, the father, and chitters a welcome. The mother walks over to the father who is holding the pigeon, takes the pigeon and brings it over to her chicks who, at the sight of food, waddle over. They chip with glee. The mother pulls a bit of pigeon off, and feeds the first chick, then, doing the same thing, feeds the second chick, then the third, then the the fourth. 

They have four chicks, which is rare in raptor world, only the best parents can have four chicks, and only the lucky have them all alive.