A solitary feather is lifted as the wind moves over the hawk’s shoulder.
Chipmunks are breathless as the mountains bask in the sunlight.
Yet the hawk turns his head, to listen to a murmuring sound close by.
A lone figure praying in the shadows, near the top of the mountain.
Peace is seldom easy, so the hawk kept silent, honoring his descendants, he turned away.
Weren’t humans descended from birds of prey?
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, 2020, ancient skies
Influenced by Native American stories of creation.