The Hawk

It would be nothing short of presumptuous to declare this new visitor to my yard

My new pet.

Though, when left alone, she seems as comfortable as my dog

Exploring my yard.

She lands solidly on the ground and with purpose,

Sometimes to have a better point of view of an intended prey,

But sometimes to meander and poke at the ground for plant or smaller creature

That requires more persistence perhaps

But less exertion and only casual concentration.

She comes so frequently,

I find myself glancing out the window every chance I get.

Sometimes she is just walking the lengths of my yard,

Front or back.

Sometimes she sits on the short white fence, a mere six feet tall,

Then she takes flight and lands on a branch

Or on the top of my shed.

Always alert, always looking,

Seldom appearing relaxed,

But always looking comfortable,

Always knowing that she is welcomed here.

Perhaps she is my sister,

Or is sent by my sister,

Whom I eulogized with a reference to a previous hawk

Which my wife and I encountered after breakfast one morning.

We had left the restaurant and gone back to the car to leave.

We sat chatting in the car about how the servers

Had engaged in back and forth verbal altercation

And how my hospitalized sister would have enjoyed how laugh out loud funny that really was.

The phone rang with the news of her passing from her middle daughter.

Turning into our driveway, there was the hawk in the yard.

Clearly not today’s hawk.

When it took flight, it went just a little over my wife’s head.

We thought, “Well there’s Mary”.

That same niece responded when I told her this story

That when she and one of her sister’s visited their mother’s apartment after her passing

There was a hawk on her roof over her doorway,

Watching as they entered her home.

So yes, today’s hawk, the same one who has visited for the last several days,

Can come anytime.

Please.

She’s watching over us, like a hawk.

Believe it.