Alone in the Rain
February 27, 2017 § Leave a comment
A hawk perched atop the dead tree outside my office window this morning. I think of it as the Hawk Tree now, because she and her fellow hawks prefer it more than the other dead trees in the stand.
In one of the living trees stood a crow, fat and black and clinging to a thin branch. He’d caw at the hawk three times, and the hawk would reply with her keening cry a few times. I saw them as I crossed the parking lot, light drizzle falling, and slowed my pace to watch.
By the time I got inside to my desk and had my binoculars in hand, the crow had flown off. Just the hawk remained, keeping watch. Her back to me, feathers ruffled and damp. She looked over her shoulder. Looked away. Turned her whole face to me and stared.
Other birds occupied the nearby trees, and no doubt things moved through the grass and wet leaves below, and cars shushed by on the highway. But it seemed in that moment that only that hawk and I existed in the world.
Her head turned again, no longer looking at me (if indeed she ever was). I put the binoculars down and she took flight, heading north and away. Rapid wingbeats, the feathers at the tip turned up, only able to glide a moment before beating at the cool, damp air again.
I watched until she vanished into the distance, alone in the rain.
The Hawk Tree, through a Prisma filter.