The Hawk

One cold January morning, I drove to a place that I pass every day on my way to work.  I brought the camera because I thought I might see this hawk.  He hunts frequently near an intersection of a road with a highway, and he is often perched on a wire, sometimes on a branch.

I think of him as old.  This may be because he doesn’t fly to swoop down on prey he spots from the air.  He plops down onto prey underneath him.  His territory seems small; a single intersection and he is fairly predictable.

On this morning, he was perched on a powerline tilting against the cold wind.  Even though I annoy him by taking his picture (causing him to fly away, at least a few feet away), this morning he just sat there and watched me.

I miss him when he’s not there, I worry about his hunting abilities, and I am reasonably certain that I will outlive him.  The day will come when he can no longer make the effort to fight the wind or brave the weather, and I won’t see him again.  I won’t know if he died or moved.

Right now, he fights for life and he is successful, but ultimately he will lose.  We all do.

He worries me, and he inspires me.  He is my friend, even though he doesn’t know it.