Soaring

I was sitting on my front porch to relax and read, it’s something I enjoy doing. Again today I saw her, circling the neighborhood. I don’t know her name, but I admire her for she is always richly dressed. She wears beautiful shades of brown; tan and burnt umber, ecru and rich gold. And she whistles a nameless song as she travels. I wonder why she does that? I find myself gazing at her and wondering what her story would be. I ponder her habits and I wonder if she is in control of her actions or if she is powerless to change. She is driven by unseen forces of nature, I believe. I know she watches the people who call Blackbottom home. She gazes as smoke trails up from Dairy Cheer filling the air with savory scents. She spies lovers in cars on University Drive, making plans for the future. She whistles as she watches a cat smooth his fur on Burke Avenue. She laughs to herself when a silly yellow dog jumps toward her as she glides through the sky. She is a hawk and she has a nest somewhere in the trees across North Lake Drive near my Uncle Johnny’s house. And the things she does, the habits she has are encoded in her; how to hunt for dinner and how to soar into the thermals and hover for long periods as she watches a mole run for cover. So yes I do believe that for her, she is powerless to change. After all, she isn’t likely to land in my yard to receive the small bits of bread that I toss out to sparrows. She isn’t going to swim down the Big Sandy River and dip her head under or paddle around like a goose. She doesn’t worry when the crows start chasing her; she can easily soar higher and faster than they can. Nor does she fret at the woodpecker as he bangs his head repeatedly into a tree. For she is a hawk, a soaring bird, a huntress. She will teach her young how to whistle and battle and snatch and climb into the wind. And she will stay true to who she is and if you meet her with blood on her feathers, then that’s how it is.

As humans, are we like that? Are we powerless to change? Is it so ingrained in me to be fearful always? Am I destined to perpetually repeat my mistakes? How can I ever learn to eat vegetables at my age and wear high heels, am I a hawk? Will I always be introverted and introspective; can I learn to be a different me? I’ve watched our society go mad in the last few years. We watch the crows and the woodpeckers of our world and we fret and worry about what they do; we do not soar above it. I wonder if we can learn to love one another even though we see fault, even though we do not agree. Is it logical to admire someone who speaks the truth, then bash them for their truth? Are the bits of letters and words and texts and little smiley faces that we expel through the atmosphere real? Have we lost the ability to live in a real world, free of technology as the hawk does? As the moon and the stars and the sun slide through our sky, I pray that I am not like the hawk, that I can find a way to change little by little each day. I hope I can learn to be more open and unafraid and tolerant. As the moon and the stars and the sun slide through our sky, I pray that I am more like the hawk. I hope I can be who I am, unafraid to speak my truth and show who I am. And I hope each day we as humans can grow a little and change and learn to forgive and give each other a little space on the earth.