At the end of my lunchtime walk, I came upon this old guy, stopped on my side of the path with an old plastic file box at his feet. Reveling in the darkened beauty of the still damp tree limbs, awakened by the cool March air, the dribble of melting snow, and the grey-white sky intensifying every shade around me - in the midst of all of this I barely gave the man a second thought. In the course of stepping around him, I suddenly noticed what had caught his attention.
A hawk was perched in the bare tree, sandy brown with its powerful wings folded at rest. It was tearing at the branch with its beak a little. I am not sure to which end. Other people paused to gaze upward and admire the fierce and wild creature. It dropped a strand of tree bark, which floated down and landed on the eight-inch lens of a young photographer's camera.
A hawk in the middle of the Common. And it could care less what any of us thought or did.
A hawk was perched in the bare tree, sandy brown with its powerful wings folded at rest. It was tearing at the branch with its beak a little. I am not sure to which end. Other people paused to gaze upward and admire the fierce and wild creature. It dropped a strand of tree bark, which floated down and landed on the eight-inch lens of a young photographer's camera.
1 comment:
One thing I love about being in the car with Dad is that he always points out these amazing birds of prey. I never can figure out how he knows which they are, just like I can never figure out how he knows which airplanes are which. I guess he just knows the sky.
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