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Questions for Hawk


Hawks wheeling overhead forming dynamic, intricate patterns as the kettle cuts, glides, swoops, rolls, disperses. Your shadows pry noisy pigeon kits from hidden ledges, food on the wing.

Brown arc’d wings dance on invisible waves of rising winds, wings that seem never to flap yet twist subtly to catch the merest breeze.  Wings fold and Hawk plummets toward earth as if shot from a taught bow only to open her arms and curl back into the cloudless blue sky, a roller coaster without rails.

What mysteries do you contemplate during your hours of meditation on the wing? Have you achieved Buddahood? Is it Nirvana to float freely on God’s breath and ascend into or descend from the heavens?

What do you think as you focus your eye on the perfectly rectangular lake of crystal waters? Are you intrigued by the naked apes flocking to the pool, a pad of flamingos braced at water’s edge dipping their toes into the cooling waters?

Do you see folly as the humans shed their feathers to lie prone absorbing the bites of Apollo, Freyr, Helios, Ra, Surya or any name by which humans address the Sun God until their pale skin turns pink with millions of microscopic wounds?

Does Hawk realize man is chained to earth by gravity, bound to trudge the land step by step, unable to open winged arms and effortlessly be lifted into the sky, to soar higher and higher, to walk on the winds, to change direction with a subtle twist of an elongated wrist, to feel the tickle of wind running through feathered fingers?

Are your eyes drawn to the curvaceous brunette woman with the mole on her neck wearing a fire engine red swimsuit flying through the water with elegant strokes of her featherless wings?  Do the flashes of crimson painted toes at the end of creamy white legs kicking the blue waters remind you of a wounded mole for the taking?

Does Hawk notice the blond woman with water droplets running over the tree of life inked on her back while she gently caresses the chest of the bearded Sikh man with the lion badge tattooed on his left shoulder? Do you care that the relationship is outside the norms of ‘polite’ society or have you more important things to contemplate than mutual love between adult humans?

Do you smell the sweet cigar smoke exhaled by the portly man with the thinning silver hair as the gray blue swirls rise then disperse beneath the ripples of your rarely flapping wings?

Do you comprehend the rhythmic sounds of human music pumped from speakers shaped like rocks or are you focused on rustling grasses being chewed upon by whiskered rodents scurrying to hide from your lethal talons?

Are you able to decipher the many human languages, the seemingly infinite accents of humans sharing ideas or are your ears distracted, assaulted by the constantly beeping car horns or soothed by the purr of the motorcycles rolling over the concrete river beds?

Do you notice that the light-hued humans sit on thrones as if they were gods and goddesses demanding appeasement while the dark-hued ones skitter about bringing them offerings of food and drink?

Do you envy that they have hot food served to them on shiny white plates, in crystal goblets or feel sorry knowing we have lost their ability to hunt for themselves and would surely starve if left to gather food on our own? Or do you shake your head in disgust at the once, all powerful naked ape who has let itself become an obese caricature of its original divine design?

If you could read, my dear Hawk, would you allot time to peruse these words honoring your presence, seeking to understand your wisdom or dismiss the human scratchings as lunacy from a mind that is as removed from reality as Hawk is from the moon?

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