A Moment's Peace

I was turning back to the house after checking on a small fig--squat bush, not a tree--out front. Gliding in on our east wind this morning was a red-shouldered hawk. Surprise, it chose to land on my back fence. 

In stealth mode, I--well, somewhat stealthily since I am still hobbled by a tear to my left Achilles. Moving up along the side of the house, hidden behind an 8-foot Heart's-a-Bustin' (Euonymus americanus), I peeked out. The bird was still there.

But let me go back half an hour or so. While I was turning over this season's tomato beds, I spied the hawk perched at the highest remaining point on the grandfather tree down by the lake. I also happen to see it dive to the ground, but when it flew up to what I think of as the corner oak, it was empty-taloned.

Immediately, much smaller birds--sparrows I think--and then a crow joined together to persuade the hawk to fly off across the lake.

Now, there was the hawk sitting quietly. The wind ruffled its breast feathers, the bird looked about, the wings tucked in. I stepped out into the open. For a few moments, the bird and I at peace. The sky above with a few clouds, the air cool and much less humid than it often is. All good.

I couldn't help but think of a favorite line of mine from Robinson Jeffers: "I'd sooner, except the penalties, kill a man than a hawk...".  Of course, I am not really a misanthrope to that degree, but I appreciate the sentiment.

The hawk scanned the terrain, seemingly disinterested, but I was wrong. Off it flew, following the slope of the hill down to where it often hunts from above.

Whether a kill was made, I could not say. 

What I was certain of in the first seconds of the encounter was simple.

No photo. No video. No TikTok. No YouTube. No Snapchat. No Facebook.

Perhaps you think, then, to snipe at me about sharing the moment via a blog post. Fair enough. But I thought with a few hundred words, you might get the picture.