A Hawk, Prosaically

As caretaker for a house on a wooded lot, I see a lot of wildlife.  So much of life is there if we just take time to look!

This morning, for example, I saw a hawk perched on a branch just beside the carport, maybe 15 feet away from the window I happened to look out.   It was turned towards the window at first, and then it turned around.  At a guess, one or more of the gazillion squirrels in the area is going to be a meal.  (For more about birds of prey, check out Birds of North America.)

Hawks have always been one of my favorite animals: gracefully soaring, gliding, and diving to hunt.  Small but lethal, at least in their weight class….  And flying itself, wow, that would be fun.  Point is, I’m right in the middle of idealizing the beauty of nature, looking at how well the hawk’s back blends into the trees, when the hawk eliminates.  Energetically.

Now a cynic could conclude that no matter how pretty life looks, it’s all crap.  A rosy-colored glasses person could cut on the reality filter and refuse to notice the unphotogenic moment.

Instead, here’s a thought.  Nothing, not even a glorious hawk, is constantly as graceful and perfect as I assume.  That doesn’t diminish the living being; it just makes it alive.  Those moments of flight that made me so jealous as a boy aren’t possible without prosaic, unglamorous moments, too.   I hope the hawk enjoys flying, but I suspect it doesn’t worry too much about perfection or what others think of it.

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