A Young Hawk Searches For Love
He was a very noisy hawk. An immature red-shouldered hawk, I believe. A youngster, trying not to be so young.
Perched on a naked branch of a dying oak, he never seemed to stop his clamorous calling. Never seemed to hunt, nor fly about, nor just sit Zen-like, waiting.
From the first light of dawn, through the hazy heat of the day, his calls seemed to grow more desperate.
As if he were pleading, yet at the same time announcing, “I am here. I am here. I am here.”
Day after day I listened a little sadly to his insistent calls. “Will he keep trying to connect”, I wondered. “Or will he give up and remain alone?”
Finally yesterday, deep in the woods, came an answering call. Faint at first, but slowly moving closer and closer. Had the young hawk’s steadfast search for connection finally been answered?
This morning I did not see him at his usual perch. Nor did his tireless calling dominate the more sedate symphony of summer sounds.
Did he give up and fly away? Or has he found at last the companion he sought for?