Old Hawk and the Wind

Resting in a crooked breeze, Old Hawk clutches a bony limb that long
ago shed its bark.

He is perched at a crossroads; one highway veers left, another right.

Both roads take travelers to the same place.

Old Hawk knows this.

There are hundreds of birds swarming like butterflies on the lake today; they gorge themselves, flying low and skimming across the water in an ancient springtime dance.

It is a cold and grey springtime. Amid the straggling snowflakes falling in a fairies' dance, winter's last children trickle from the sky. A thousand tiny adventurers make their way to the ground below, each one forever changed by the journey.

Old Hawk's coat is worn thin. He holds his shoulders at his side and keeps his chin tucked low.

When the sun comes, things will change again.
Old Hawk knows this.

April. 8, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution