hawks – Ancient Skies

In Winter Hawks Fly Low

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In winter, hawks fly low bending, turning the air

brushing their wings with pine trees

so they can smell like…

Christmas.

The Sunset of December

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I was up high in the sunset of December

with shadows of tree limbs covering

and hawk wings flying over,

giving me a wild feeling untamed

yet I turned back to the valley

having surrendered, with dreams

of a hot cup of tea,

and My Love cooking

some spicy noodles.

Note: Sometimes small things are more beautiful.

Into the Cold Light

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When leaves whither,

and the brilliance of autumn fades

hawks fly

into the cold light

of the winter sun.

Fish Hawk Morning

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In the cool grey dawn, a wing dipped down,

testing the waters, slicing the autumn air

banking to the right

moving through the rain

with deadly precision

diving,

while rays of sunlight peek

through the clouds,

a fish captured

to feed her family.

Sun Kissed Leaves

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Sun kissed leaves at the top of trees in the cooler air

where the hawk bathes his feathers

in the sunlight perched

on a large branch

sometimes stretching his wings

to scare the chipmunks

below.

Dreamscaping

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And I saw the edge of a hawk’s wing filled with wind,

while the crow lived in the shadows waiting his turn,

but within a whisper

I was brought back to earth,

the smell of lavender and vanilla,

My Love rolling over,

planting a kiss on my cheek.

Her smile saying,

“Good morning”.

The Hawk Ascends

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A perfect union of earth and sky, drawing me in,

calling forth who I once was

before the ruins descended.

I take a knee,

remembering

letting go now of the prayer

I’ve been carrying

for so long, eyes closed

my back lurches and my wings extend,

unfolding

as my spirit reaches

into the clouds.

Note: Is he human or is he hawk? It’s hard to tell sometimes.

Category: hawks