Hawk

Today I was working at my computer when I heard the unmistakable sound of wings passing by, saw from my peripheral vision a sharp-shinned hawk passing by. The sound of those wings was amazing to me. I heard them through the glass of my French door. How powerful! That sound has stuck with me.

Many thanks to Lisa for hosting dVerse and quadrille this week!

brown and white eagle flying near tree
Photo by Frank Cone on Pexels.com

Hawk

The power in the wings
whoop-whoop
a strangled exhalation.
The hawk swoops.
I feel ever torn:
protector or naturalist.
My way, my birds, my squirrels.
I fill the bird feeder,
gray, white feathers mingle
with similarly-shaped willow leaves.
Hawk, I hope, rather than cat.

end

Categories: dVerse, poems

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3 replies »

  1. Sascha what a thing to take you away from it all, the sounds of the hawk. I have heard they bring good fortune to any who see them so hearing must be part of it too I think. I know your ambivalence when they hunt near the bird feeder. I hear their calls but not their wings.

    • Thanks. I have never heard such a sound until this afternoon. Sometimes they have slammed themselves or their prey against my door. I’m never quite sure since I haven’t been there to see, only to hear. And, yes, it’s ambivalence. The birds and squirrels show such trust to me.

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