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.

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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.

     

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

Note: Sometimes small things are more beautiful.

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. 

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies