In the bright rising morning light
I watched a hawk launch
from a tall tree with strong, reliable limbs
though its golden leaves were going brown.
Keen-eyed, brazen, the predator flew
away, then arced, I was certain,
to return to its lofty bower,
but it beat its wings and kept on into the blue
until it left my frame of vision.
I apprehended then
the human fixation
with watching these birds in flight.
Fierce and graceful,
independent and free,
with such space to fly,
where the air alone is enough
to hold you safe and high;
where the wide sturdy arms of home
are always waiting
upon your choice
whether to return.
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