It had been a lovely, hot day by
the river’s edge. We’d watched the murky water rush by, tried to identify the
birds we could hear, and just enjoyed the beautiful summer day.
Now we were in the car following
the quiet little side road back up to the main highway. There was no one else
there. Just us and the woods.
Then Mother stopped the car
because she saw a large patch of a wild herbs growing up a steep slope and she
wanted to pick some. I got out and followed Mother. She was up the slope and
picking, but I hadn’t quite made it to where she was when I heard it.
The tell-tale “Skreee! Skreee!”
of the Red-Tailed Hawk. It was eerie, haunting and lonely, and yet irresistibly
beautiful. It made me shiver. I could hear it very close by, but I couldn’t see
it.
Then, with another chilling
“Skreee!” the magnificent bird burst over the rise so low and close I could see
the creamy belly and distinctive feather pattern with a breathless clarity. I
could see the heavy, strong talons tucked flat beneath the tail, and the short,
sharp beak. It was so low I thought I could almost have reached up and stroked
it as it passed. My chest grew warm with
excitement and admiration.
It soared majestically and high
into the sky. Another one appeared unexpectedly and the two seemed to nearly
collide in mid-air. Then they soared off in great sweeping circles toward the
sun. I was mesmerized by their graceful, flawless movements. I became
momentarily virtually blinded in spite of my efforts to block the blazing
sphere to with my hand. Somewhere along the line, two became one, and only one
bird was soaring on the other side of the sun when I could see again.
Then I heard the “Skreee!
Skreee!” again, and one of the hawks came over the rise from a different angle and
swooped right towards Mother only yards above her, but she was bent over
plucking and didn’t see it. Too bad. It was really close to her.
They kept this behavior up the
whole time we were there, with one last magnificent swoop before we left. We
talked about why they were doing this. Protecting their territory? Maybe. Their
chicks? It was a little late in the year for that. Competing for spouses?
Again, it wasn’t courting season. Could they have been looking for food? They
have an amazing sense of vision and can see little rodents on the ground from
high in the air. But neither ever swooped to grab anything. Were they, perhaps,
welcoming us? Or just saying ‘hi’? Or is it just possible that they were,
coincidentally, out for fun at the same time we were there? Why ever not? If I
could do that, I’d sure as heck be up there in the sky every chance I got!
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